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MANUAL OF ELOCUTION 



FOUNDED UPON THE 



PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN VOICE. 



OJlassijiitd Jllustptions. 

SUGaESTED BY AND ARRANGED TO MEET THE PRACTICAL 
DIFFICULTIES OF INSTRUCTION. 



/ BY 

M. S. MITCHELL. 




^ PHILADELPHIA: 
ELDEEDGE & BEOTHEK, 

17 AND 19 South Sixth Street. 

NEW YORK : J. W. SCHERMERHORN & CO. BOSTON : WOODlfAN & HAMMETT. 

Gl.N'CINNATI : R. W. CARROLL & CO. CHICAGO : SPEAKMAN & 

PROCTOR. CLEVELAND : INGHAM & BRAGG. 

1868, 



TH+l" 



Entered according to Act of Congi-ess, in the year 1867, by 

ELDREDGE & BROTHER, 

in the Clerk's OfiBce of the District Court of the United States for the 

Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



^ 






J. PAGAN & SON, 

STEREOTYPE POUNDERS, 

PHILADELPHIA. 



-^ 



PRINTED BY SHERMAN & CO. 



PREFACE. 



Long experience of the need which it is the design 
of the following pages to supply, must explain the rea- 
sons for the preparation of this volume. If that design 
be accomplished, the book will be its own best inter- 
preter ; if not, a lengthened preface would but make the 
failure more apparent. The whole theory of elocution, 
including an analysis of gesture, has been herein dis- 
cussed, though all merely incidental opinions have been 
carefully avoided. Where just views have been found 
expressed by those who have made this a life-study, 
their language has frequently been quoted, in the hope 
that due importance may be ascribed to the ideas thus 
presented. Special acknowledgments are due to Dr. 
James Eush, to whose profound and accurate analysis 
of the "Philosophy of the Human Yoice," all writers 
upon the subject have so long been indebted ; and to 
Professor Wm. Eussell, in whose able expositions of the 
theory of Dr. Eush may be found a more minute eluci- 
dation of the principles of this branch of education, so 
much neglected and misunderstood. Elocution being 
less a science than an art, much will ever remain to be 
effected by the living teacher, though experience has 
proved the great advantages to be derived from the 
general system of instruction here proposed. 

The examples for practice have been classified with 
the view of separately illustrating each division of the 
work ; in many instances, it may be best not to attempt 

(iii) 



IV PEEFACE. 

the reading of any long selection, until, by thorough 
study and diligent practice upon the shorter illustra- 
tions, each principle is clearly understood. The read- 
ing of a single poem might serve to develop the whole 
theory of elocutioD ; the examples under each successive 
division may therefore be used, not only to secure a 
clear apprehension of the special point under considera- 
tion, but also to review the lessons previously explained 
and illustrated. 

Great care has been taken to consult the authorized 
editions of the various writers here represented, that 
the extracts^ from their works may be relied upon as 
accurate ; though, in some instances, preference has been 
given to an early edition, when, in later issues, the alter- 
ations have not been deemed improvements. Many 
poems have been introduced which have never before 
found their way into any book of selections, some few 
being now for the first time published in this country. 

The compiler cannot conceal the hope that this 
glimpse of our general literature may tempt to indi- 
vidual research among its treasures, so varied and inex- 
haustible ; — that this text-book for the school-room 
may become not only teacher, but friend, to those in 
whose hands it is placed, and while aiding, through sys- 
tematic development and training of the elocutionary 
powers of the pupil, to overcome many of the practical 
difficulties of instruction, may accomplish a higher work 
in the cultivation and refinement of character. 

PniLADELrHiA, June 4, 1867. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PA&E 

INTRODUCTION 13 

Movements 18 

Breathings 18 

ARTICULATION ; 20 

YowELS, Sub-vowels, &c 20 

Table of Elements 21 

Exercises 21 

Concrete and Discrete Sounds 24 

Radical and Vanishing Movements 24 

YowEL Sounds: Monothongs, &c 24 

Defects in Articulation 25 

PRONUNCIATION ". 26 

Orthoepy 26 

Phonetic Analysis of Words 26 

Syllabication 27 

Monosyllables, Dissyllables, &c.. 27 

Quantity 27 

Immutable, Mutable, AND Indefinite Syllables 27 

Accent 28 

Primary and Secondary Accent.. 28 

EMPHASIS 29 

Absolute and Antithetic Emphasis 29 

Illustrations. — Absolute Emphasis. Robertson, Ruslcin, Mrs. Child, 

WIdttier, Kingsley, Carlyle 30 

Illustrations. — Antithetic Emphasis. Rohertsnn, Thomas d Kem- 
pis, S/iakespe.are, Landor, Emerson, Carlyle, Miss Gh'eenwell, Ware, 

Miss Procter, Giles.. 33 

Remarks on Distinct Enunciation 36 

SELECTIONS 39 

MODULATION 53 

Pitch, Tones, &c 53 

Scale, Interval, &c '. 53 

Natural or Diatonic Scale 53 

Radical, Concrete and Discrete Pitch 54 

Melody of Speech 54 

Intonation 54 

Long Quantity 64 

Illustrations. — Carlyle, Richter, Giles, Campbell, Percival, Holmes, 

Miss Greenwell, Mrs. Browning 64 

MELODY OF SPEECH, Continued 57 

Diatonic Melody 57 

Illustrations. — De Quincey, Mrs. Browning, Margaret Fuller Os- 

soli, Shelley, Goldsmith, Tennyson 57 

Semitonic Melody 60 

Illustrations. — Shakespeare, Tennyson, Randolph, Coleridge, Mrs. 

Browning 60 

Monotone 62 

Illustrations. — Keats, Coleridge, Shakespeare, Poe, Schiller, Be Vere, 

Mrs. Howell, Tennyson 63 

SELECTIONS. — Diatonic Melody 66 

Semitonic Melody 71 

Monotone 77 

(v) 



VI TABLE OF CON-TENTS. 

PAGB 

PITCH, Continued 81 

Degrees of Pitch 81 

Examples. — Bryant, Mrs. Hemans, Byron, Cranch, Tennyson, Cole- 
ridge, Wolfe, Shakespeare, Campbell, Byron 81 

Illustrations. — High Pitch. Shakespeare, Arnold, Spenser, Ten- 
nyson 84 

Illustrations. — Medium Pitch. Mrs. Browning, Miss Procter, Rob- 
ertson, Brooke, Tennyson 86 

Illustrations. — Low Pitch. Shakespeare, Shelley, Byron, Bryant, 
Lowell, Miss Greenwell, Burns 88 

MODULATION, Continued 92 

Qualities of Tone 92 

Pure Tone 92 

Examples. — Whipple, Eichter, Mrs. Child, Martineau, Emerson 92 

Orotunt) Quality. 
Effusive Orotund. 

Examples. — Schiller, Coventry Patmore, Pope, Wliittier, Mrs. Brown- 
ing, Mrs. SoiUhey 95 

Expulsive Orotund. 

Examples. — Webster, PatHck Henry, Sheridan Knowles,Mrs.Browning 97 
Explosive Orotund. 

Examples. — Byron, Shakespeare, Scott, Moore, Halleck 99 

Aspiration 101 

Examples. — Tennyson,Byron, Shakespeare 101 

Guttural Quality 102 

Ex.umples. — Shakespeare, MiUon, Croly 103 

Falsetto. 

Examples. — Sliakespeare, Longfellow 104 

Tremor 106 

Examples. — Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, Keats, Milton, Mrs. Barbauld 106 

Characteristics of Tones .- 108 

IN Modulation...... 108 



SELECTIONS. — Poetical Illustrations of Pure Tone 113 

" Prose Illustrations of Effusfte Orotund 116 

" Poetical Illustrations of Orotund Qu.ality 122 

" Illustrations of the Different Qualities of Tone 133 

INFLECTIONS 175 

Rising, Falling, Circumflex or Wave 175 

Rising Octave 176 

Examples. — Sheridan, Bulwer, Taylor, Shakespeare 176 

Rising Fifth 177 

Examples. — Scott, Patrick Henry, Tennyson, Owen Meredith 177 

Rising Third 179 

Examples. — Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, Spenser 179 

Downward Octave 181 

Examples. — Knowles. Shakespeare, Ci-oly 181 

Downward Fifth 182 

Examples. — Shakespeare, Addison, Tennyson 182 

Downward Third 183 

Examples. — Milton, Kingsley, Emeison, Doddridge, Browning, Ten- 
nyson, Longfellow 183 

Interval of the Second 186 

Examples. — i?ee(7, Ruskin, Hawthoi-ne, Emerson, Robertson, Mill.... 187 
The Wave : '. 1S8 

Examples. — i^V-an/uZm, Taylor, Knowles, Shelley, Milton 189 

SELECTIONS. — The Wave. — Humorous Illustrations 191 

INFLECTIONS, Continued 206 

Rules for Inflections 206 

Examples. — Landor, Bacon, Shakespeare, Milton, Robei-tson, Curtis, 

Rush, Southey 206 

Illustrations. — Affirmative Sentences. Robertson, Shakespeare, 

Clay, Bailey, L'Aime Martin, Emerson, Whipple, Von Humboldt 208 

Illustrations. — Negative Sentences. Robertson, Emerson, Thomas 
d Kempis, Whipple, Locke, Owen 3Ieredith 209 

Illustrations. — Interrogative Sentences beginning with a Pronoun 
or Adverb. Bartol, Sir Wm. Jones, H. Bonar..... 211 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. Vll 



Illustrations. — Interrogative Sentences beginning with a Verb. 

Whitticr, Carlyle.. 212 

iLLUSTfiATiONS. — Suspension of Sense. Emerson, Reed, Be Quincey 212 

Illustrations. — Parenthetical Phrases. Shakespeare, Tennyson, 

Webster 213 

Illustrations. — Contrasted Sentences. Shakespeare, Tennyson, 

Emerson, Kin g si ey, Longfellow 213 

Illustrations. — Concessions. De Quincey, Mrs. Broioning 214 

Illustrations. — Exclamatory Sentences. Dante, Browning, Miss 

Greenwell, Campbell, Carlyle 215 

ILLUSTR.A.TIONS. — Exclamations in the Form of Interrogative Sen- 
tences beginning with a Pronoun or Adverb. Browning, De 
Quinceij 216 

Illustrations. — Exclamations in the Form of Interrogative Sen- 
tences beginning with a Yerb. Alisx Greenwell, Emerson 216 

Illustrations. — Declarations in the Form of Negative Sentences. 

Robertson, Giles, Emerson, Tennyson, Miss Muloch 217 

SERIES - 218 

Simple and Compound Series, Series of Series 218 

Commencing and Concluding Series 219 

Examples. — Sliakpspeare, Martineau, Tennyson 219 

Illustrations. — Commencing Series. Wirt, Hillard, Shakespeare, 

Goldsmith 220 

Illustrations. — Concluding Series. Shakespeare, Tenmyson, Mont- 
gomery, Ruskin 220 

Illustrations. — Series of Series. Hooker, Taylor, Whipple 221 

CADENCE 222 

Partial and Distinct Cadence 222 

Examples. — Scott, Shakespeare, Massey, Taylor 223 

Errors in Cadence 223 

Illustrations. — Partial and Distinct Cadence. Ruskin, Kingsley, 
Carlyle, Stei'ling, WldHier, Faber, H. Coleridge, Wordsworth, 
Bailey, Miss Greenwell, Mrs. Browning, Milnes, Miss Procter, 
Miss Waring, Browning, Owen 31eredith 225 

FORCE 2-30 

Exercises — Degrees of Force 231 

Illustrations. — Loud Force. Shakespeare, Gray, Patrick Henry, 

Croly 233 

Illustrations. — Moderate Force. Wordswm-th, Tennyson, Thacke- 
ray, Shalcspeare, Stoddard, Robertson, Lowell 234 

Illustrations. — Soft Force. Shalespeare, Shelley, Byron, Southey, 
Milton, F. Tennyson, Prentice, Mrs. Browning, Aytoun, Kings- 
ley, Keats, Tennyson, Spenser 237 

FORCE, Continued 242 

Varie'Ies of Stress 242 

E.'i.DiCAL Stress 242 

Examples. — Shakespeare, Ruskin, Webster, Lord Brougham., Milton 243 
Median Stress ; 244 

ExAMPLKS. — Miss Greenwell, Mrs. Browning, Miss Ingeloio 245 

Vanishing Stress 246 

Examples. — Sliakespeare, Webster, Otis 247 

Compound Stress 247 

Ex.amples. — Shakespeare, Whittier, Knowles 248 

Thorough Stress 248 

Examples. — Pitt, Shakespeare, Milton 248 

SELECTIONS. — Median Stress 251 

Varieties of Stress 263 

PAUSES 295 

Grammatical and Rhetorical Pauses 295 

Rules for Pauses 295 

Examples. — Francis de Sales, Keats, Lowell, Mrs. Browning, Bailey, 

Emerson, Hood, Shakespeare, Mill 295 

Length of Pauses, &c 297 

Illustbations. — Very Short Pauses. Scott, Browning, Byron 298 



viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Illustrations. — Short Pauses. HazJitt, Drake, Milton 299 

Illustrations. — Moderate Pauses. Winthrop, Brnnke, Mrs. Brown- 
ing, Stoddard. Wwdsworth, Smith, Sterling, Boker, U. N. Cole- 
ridge '. 300 

Illustrations. — Long Pauses. Shelley, Broioning, Mrs. Browning.. 304 
Illustrations. — Very Long Pauses. Longfellow, Shakespeare, Ad- 
dison 307 

Time or Movement 310 

Varieties of Time 310 

SELECTIONS. — Vert Quick Movement 312 

Quick Movement 316 

LrvET.T Movement 326 

Moderate Movement 332 

Slow Movement 335 

Vert Slow Movement 340 

""TIADING OF POETRY 353 

Definitions. Wordsworth, Wilson, Milton, Ruskin, Leigh Hunt, Giles 353 

Versification, &c : 353 

Poetical Feet, Scanning, &c 353 

Examples. — Wliittier, Coleridge, Tennyson, Wordsworth, Milton, 

Browning .353 

Metre 356 

Examples. — Hood, Mrs. Southey, Longfellow. Mrs. Browning, Stod- 
dard. P'ipe, WIntUer, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Miss Procter, Holmes 356 

Poetical or Harmonic Pauses 3-57 

Final, C.^sur\t., and DEun-C.^suRAL Pauses 357 

Examples. — Damiani, Gh-ay 358 

It.lustrations. — Dimeter. 3fr.^. Smithey, Longfellow, Whittier 358 

Illustrations. — Trimeter. Miss Greenwell, Mrs. Browning, Miss 

3Moch 359 

Illustr\tions. — Tetrameter. Milton, Longfellow, J/rs. Browning, 

Coleridge, Tennyson , 361 

Illustrations. —Pentameter. Miss Greenwell, Campbell, Thomson, 

Lnngfellmo 363 

Illustrations. — Hexameter. Longfellow, Tegn&i', Milton 364 

Illustrations. — Heptameter. Tennyson, Smith 365 

Illustrations. — Octameter. Mrs. Charles 366 

Faults in the Reading of Poetrt 366 

SELECTIONS 367 

ACTION 381 

Attitude 381 

Analtsis of the Principles of Gesture 381 

Position of Various Members of the Bodt 382 

Principal Lines of Gestxtre, &c 383 

SELECTIONS. — Oratorical 386 



CONTENTS. 



SELECTIONS. 

PAGE 

A Psalm of Life Henry W. Lonyfelloio. 144 

Adam to Eve Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 378 

Address at Gettysburg Abraham Lincoln. 116 

Annabel Lee Edgar Allan Poe. 368 

Artevelde's Farewell Henry Taylor. 78 

Barbara Erietchie John G. Whittier. 287 

Beauty • Wm. Ellery Ghanning. 44 

Bonny Kilmeny James Hogg. 327 

Bugle Song Alfred Tennyson. 138 

Character Ralph Waldo Emerson. 40 

Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennyson. 273 

Chaucer 31rs. Browning. 66 

Contentment Oliver Wendell Holmes. 193 

Cowper's Grave Mrs. Browning, 129 

Cranmer's Prophecy Wm. ShaJcesjjeare. 113 

Darkness Lord Byron. 79 

Death of Little Nell Charles Dickens. 71 

Dies Irae Thomas de Celano. 375 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard Thomas Gray. 342 

Essential Difference between Man and 'Wom.dJX..Fred. W. Robertson. 41 

Evelyn Hope Robert Broioning. 367 

Excelsior H. W. Longfellotv. 271 

Extract Frederic W. Robertson. 121 

Extract Charles Sumner. 119 

Extract from "The Second Inaugural" Abraham Lincoln. 117 

Extract from "Our National Life" Edwin P. Whii^ple. 39 

Extract from "King's Treasuries" John Rnshin. 42 

Extract from " Queen's Gardens" " 49 

(ix) 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE . 

Extract from "Alton Locke" Charles Kingsley. 119 

Extract from "The Potiphar Papers" Geo. Wm. Curtis. 130 

Extract from "The Princess" Tennyson. 167 

Extract from "The Two Voices" " 336 

Extract from "Dejection: An Ode" Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 334 

Extract from "Abt Vogler" Robert Broioning. 339 

Extract from "De Profundis " Mrs. Browning. 376 

Extract from "A Rhapsody of Life's Progress" " 129 

Extract from " The Rhyme of the Duchess May " " 168 

Extract from "The Celestial Country" Bernard of Cluni. 170 

Extract from "The Reconciler" Dora Greemoell. 260 

Faith Alfred Tennyson. 338 

Godiva " 165 

Horatius Thomas Babington Macatday. 263 

Hymn C. S. M. 352 

Hymn of Trust 0. W.Holmes. 339 

Individuality R. W.Emerson. 69 

Invocation to Light John Hilton. 77 

Invocation to the New Year Alfred Tennyson. 145 

Irving James Russell Loicell. 326 

LausDeo! John G. Whittier. 293 

Life Tapestry Dora Greemoell. 335 

Lochiel's Warning ,.... Thomas Campbell. 274 

Love and Death Tennyson. 335 

Love, Hope, and Patience in Education S. T. Coleridge. 113 

Loved Once Mrs.. Broioning. 372 

Miss Kilmansegg's Education Thomas Hood. 195 

Mother and Poet Mrs. Broioning. 369 

Ode: Intimations of Immortality Wm. Wordsworth. 253 

Ode to the Passions Wm. Collins. 163 

Palm Sunday John Keble. 332 

"Poor Jo" Charles Dickens. 146 

Prospice Robert Browning. 377 

Purpose of the Bunker Hill Monument Daniel Webster. 394 

Queen Mab Sha7ces2)eare. 312 

Reminiscences of Arnold and Wordsworth F. W. Robertson. 41 



CONTENTS. XI 

PAGE 

Rienzi to the Eomans Ifm-y Russell Mitford. 392 

Eolla to the Peruvians Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 393 

Self-Dependence Miss Ifuloch {3Irs. Graik). 48 

Scene from " Macbeth".., Shakespeare. 148 

Scene from "Hamlet" " 376 

Scene from "Julius Caesar" " 386 

Sheridan's Ride Thomas Buchanan Read. 285 

Sonnet Frances Anne Kemhle. 333 

Sonnet on his Blindness Milton. 335 

Stanzas from "In Memoriam " Tennyson. 374 

Stanzas, " Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? " Wm. Knox. 350 

Strive, Wait, and Pray Adelaide Anne Procter. 340 

Studies Lord Francis Bacon. 40 

Tears 3Irs. Browning. 336 

Thanatopsis. Wm. Cullen Bryant. 251 

The American Flag Josejjh Rodman Brake. 280 

The Art of Book-keeping Thomas Hood. 192 

The Battle of Ivry T. B. Macaulay. 288 

The Bells Thos. Hood. 160 

The Bridge of Sighs " 72 

The Cataract of Lodore Robert Southey. 316 

The Closing Scene T. B. Read. 340 

The Cloud Percy Bysslie Shelley. 330 

The Cry of the Children Mrs. Broionincj. 122 

The Cry of the Human " 347 

The Diverting History of John Gilpin Wm. Cowper. 319 

The Dream of Eugene Aram Thos. Hood. 138 

The Dying Christian Alex. Pope. 128 

The Great Bell Roland Theodore Tilton. 290 

The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire ,..Jean Ingelow. 151 

The Mantle of St. John de Matha J. G. Whittier. 282 

The March to Moscow Southey. 313 

The May Queen Tennyson. 155 

The Nation's Dead 173 

The Old Clock on the Stairs Longfellow. 136 

The Proud Miss MacBride John G. Saxe. 198 



Xll CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Raven Foe. 268 

The Reform Bill Sydney Smith. 191 

The Shepherd of the People Rev. Phillips Brooha. 118 

The Soldier from Bingen Mrs. Norton. 172 

The Song of the Shirt Hood. 126 

The Vision of Immortality Bryant. 253 

The Waiting Whittier. 132 

This World is Full of Beauty Gerald Massey. 115 

Three Descriptions linskin, Robertson, C.Bronte. 67 

Thy Will be Done Whittier. 380 

To a Skylark Shelley. 133 

Union and Liberty Holmes. 395 

Wolsey's Address to Cromwell Shakesjieare. 75 

Wolsey's Soliloquy after his Downfall " 76 

Woman's Education Riiskin. 69 

Work Jlrs. Browning. 333 



A 

MANUAL OE ELOCUTION. 



INTRODUCTION. 

" So they read in the bnok in the Una of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused 
them to understand the reading." — Nehemiah viii. 8. 

Elocution (derived from the Latin verb e-loquor, to 
speak out, and ion, the act of, — the literal meaning being, 
the act of speaking out) may be defined — vocal delivery. 

"Elocution is the ai't or act of so delivering our own thoughts 
and feelings, or the thoughts and feelings of others, as not only to 
convey to those around us, with precision, force, and harmony, the 
full import and meaning of the words and sentences in which these 
thoughts are clothed, but also to excite and impress upon the 
mind the feelings, imaginations, and passions by which these 
thoughts are dictated, or by which they should naturally be ac- 
companied. Elocution, therefore, in its more ample and liberal 
signification, is not confined to the mere exercise of the organs of 
speech. It embraces the whole theory and practice of the exterior 
demonstration of the inward workings of the mind. 

"Eloquence maybe considered the soul or animated principle of 
discourse. Elocution is the embodying form or representative 
power, depending upon exterior accomplishments and on the cul- 
tivation of the organs. Oratory is the complicated and vital exist- 
ence resulting from the perfect harniony and combination of elo- 
quence and elocution." — Bronaon. 

"If any one would sing, he attends a master, and is drilled in 
the very elementary principles; and only after the most laborious 

process, dares to exercise his voice in public If he were 

learning to play on the flute for public exhibition, what hours and 
days would he spend, in giving facility to his fingers and attaining 
the power of the sweetest and most expressive execution. If he 
2 (13) 



14 ELOCUTION. 

were devoting himself to the organ, what months and years would 
he labor, that he might know its compass, and be master of its keys, 
and be able to draw out, at will, all its various combinations of 
harmonious sound, and its full richness and delicacy of expression. 
"And yet he will fancy that the grandest, the most various and 
most expressive of all instruments which the Infinite Creator has 
fashioned by the union of an intellectual soul with the powers of 
speech, may be played upon without study or practice ; he comes 
to it a mere uninstructed tyro, and thinks to manage all its stops, 
and command the whole compass of its varied and comprehensive 
power. He finds himself a bungler in the attempt, is mortified at 
his failure, and settles it in his mind for ever that the attempt is 
vain." — Ware. 

"The art of reading well is an accomplishment that all desire to 
possess, many think they have already, and that a few set about to 
acquire. These, believing their power is altogether in their genius, 
are, after a few lessons from an elocutionist, disappointed at not 
becoming themselves at once masters of the art; and with the 
restless vanity of their belief, abandon the study for some new 
subject of trial and failure. Such cases of infirmity result in part 
from the wavering character of the human tribe ; but they chiefly 
arise from defects in the usual course of instruction. Go to some 
(may we say all?) of our colleges and universities, and observe how 
the art of speaking is not taught there. See a boy of but fifteen 
years, with no want of youthful diffidence, and not without a craving 
desire to learn, sent upon a stage, pale and choking with apprehen- 
sion ; being forced into an attempt to do that, wdthout instruction, 
which he came purposely to learn ; and furnishing amusement to 
his class-mates, by a pardonable awkwardness, that should be 
punished, in the person of his pretending but neglectful preceptor, 
with little less than scourging. Then visit a conservatorio of music ; 
observe there the elementary outset, the orderly task, the masterly 
discipline, the unwearied superintendence, and the incessant toil 
to reach the utmost accomplishment in the Singing- Voice ; and 
afterwards do not be surprised that the pulpit, the senate, the bar, 
and the chair of medical professorship, are filled with such abomi- 
nable drawlers, mouthers, mumblers, clutterers, squeakers, chanters, 
and mongers in monotony ; nor that the Schools of Singing are 
constantly sending abroad those great instances of vocal wonder 
who triumph along the crowded resorts of the world ; who contrib- 
ute to the halls of fashion and wealth their most refined source 
of gratification ; who sometimes quell the pride of rank, by a 



INTEOPUCTION. 15 

momentary sensation of envy ; and who draw forth the admiration 
and receive the crowning applause of the prince and sage." — Rush. 

" The high accomplishments in Elocution are supposed to be 
universally the unacquired gifts of genius, and to consist of powers 
and 'graces beyond the reach of art.' So seem the plainest services 
of arithmetic to a savage ; and so, to the slave, seem all the ways 
of music which modern art has so accurately penned, as to time, 
and tune, and momentary grace. Ignorance knows not what has 
been done ; indolence thinks, nothing can be done ; and both uniting, 
borrow from the abused eloquence of poetry an aphorism to justify 
supineness of inquiry." — Ibid. 

"Orthophony is, to elocution, what solfeggi and other rudimental 
exercises are to music : a course of elementary discipline for the 
systematic cultivation of the voice. We may, it is true, read well, 
just as we may sing well, ' by ear,' or the teaching of nature merely. 
But cultivation gives us, in both these uses of the voice, the immense 
advantages of knowledge, science, and skill. Furnished with these 
aids, and directed by discerning judgment and good taste, the 
cultivated reader or speaker has all the advantages of the culti- 
vated singer, as regards the true and effective use of his organs. 

" The preparatory training and discipline of the voice, for the 
purpose of reading, recitation, and declamation, are of incalculable 
value, whether as regards the organic results connected with the 
easy, vigorous, and salutary exertion of the voice, or the healthy 
expansion of the chest, and the inspiring glow of vivid emotion, 
which is indispensable to effective expression. Dr. Rush's exact 
and scientific analysis of elocution, in its connection with the action 
of the organs of voice, enables the teacher to carry elementary 
cultivation to an extent previously unattainable, and, even yet, too 
little known by those who have not paid special attention to the 
subject. The actual benefits, however, arising- from the practical 
applications of Dr. Rush's system, are equally felt in the exactness 
of intelligence which it imparts, regarding all the expressive uses 
of the voice, and the force, freedom, and brilliancy of effect, which 
it gives to the action of the vocal organs, whether in the utterance 
of expressive emotion, or of distinctive meaning addressed to the 
understanding, by the process of unimpassioned articulation." — 
Russell. 

"The customary routine of academic declamation consists in per- 
mitting or compelling a student to ' speak,' and in pointing out his 
faults, after they have been committed. But it offers no genial in- 



16 ELOCUTION 

ducement to the exercise, and provides no preventive training by 
which faults might he avoided. Eloquence, in his habits of voice 
and action, a student may bring with him to our literary institu- 
tions ; "but he will find little opportunity, there, of acquiring or of 
perfecting such accomplishments, till a correct and graceful elocu- 
tion is duly recognized as a part of liberal education." — Ibid. 

"If there were no other benefits resulting from the art of reading 
well than the necessity it lays upon us of precisely acquiring the 
meaning of what we read, and the habit thence acquired of doing 
this with facility, both when reading silently and aloud, they would 
constitute a sufficient compensation for all the labor we can bestow- 
on the subject. But the pleasure derived to ourselves and others 
from a clear communication of ideas and feelings, and the strong 
and durable impressions made thereby on the minds of the reader 
and audience, are considerations which give additional importance 
tQ this delightful and useful art. The perfect attainment of it doubt- 
less requires great attention and practice, joined to extraordinary 
natural powers ; but as there are many degrees of excellence in the 
art, the student whose aims fall short of perfection will find himself 
amply rewarded for every exertion he may think proper to make. 

"To give rules for the management of the voice in reading, by 
which all the necessary pauses, emphases, tones, &c., may be dis- 
covered and put into practice, is not possible. After all the direc- 
tions which can be offered on these points, much will remain to be 
taught by the living instructor : much will be attainable by no other 
means than the force of example influencing the imitative powers 
of the learner. Some rules and principles on these heads will, how- 
ever, be found useful, to prevent erroneous and vicious modes of 
utterance, and assist in acquiring a just and accurate mode of de- 
livery." — Murray. 

"The faultless reader should possess for various occasions all the 
qualities of the voice. The organs of articulation should be sub- 
jected to such a kind and degree of exercise as will best develop 
their powers, and enable them to act with force, rapidity, precision, 
and effect. Well-directed and vigorous exercises on inflection, and 
the various forms of stress, will extend the compass of the voice, and 
render it smooth, powerful, and melodious. 

"Deep notes, extended quantity, and monotone should be under 
the command of the reader or speaker, for the expression of over- 
whelming sentiments ; his tremor should be under his control for 
the occasions of grief and exultation ; his judgment and observation 



INTRODUCTION. 17 

must decide where emphasis is to be placed ; his perception and 
good taste must determine what inflection, form of stress, and move- 
ment of the voice will best express the thought ; and these should 
at all times be obedient to his will, when occasion calls for their 
use." — Tower. 

" By the term Vocal Gymnastics, may be understood the principles 
of the human voice as employed in speech and song, as well as the 
training of the organs by which this voice is produced. The prin- 
ciples are the science of the voice, — the training, the exercise of the 
organs, necessary to develop their powers, and enable them to act 
with rapidity, precision, and effect. 

"Vocal gymnastics give the pupil complete command of the mus- 
cles of articulation, extend the compass of the voice, and render it 
smooth, powerful, and melodious. They not only call forth all the 
energies of the vocal organs, correct stammering, lisping, &c., but 
they invigorate the lungs, and consequently fortify them against 
the invasion of disease." — Comstock. 

"The methods of practical training, founded on the theory and 
suggestions of Dr. Rush, are attended by a permanent salutary in- 
fluence of the highest value. They produce a free and powerful 
exertion of the organs of respiration, a buoyancy of animal life, an 
exhilaration of spirit^, and an energetic activity of the whole cor- 
poreal frame, — all highly conducive to the well-being of the juve- 
nile pupil, not less than to his attainment of a spirited, efi"ective, 
and graceful elocution. The correspondent benefits conferred on 
adults, by a vigorous course of vocal gymnastics, are of perhaps 
still higher moment, for the immediate purposes of life and useful- 
ness. The sedentary habits of students and professional men render 
them -liable npt only to organic disability of utterance, and to injury 
of the lungs, but to numerous faults of habit in their modes of exert- 
ing the organs of speech, — faults which impair or counteract the 
intended effect of all their efforts in the form of public reading or 
speaking. The daily practice of vocal exercises is the only effec- 
tual means of invigorating the organic system, or correcting faults 
of habit in utterance, and the surest means, at the same time, of 
fortifying the inward frame against the exhausting effects of pro- 
fessional exertion."— J?MsseZZ. 

The following movements, breathings, and exercises of the voice 
suitable for the school-roonl, by expanding the chest, quickening the 
circulation, and imparting energy and pliancg to the respiratory and 
vocal organs, are of great service in developing the student's powers 
of elocution. 

2* B ♦ 



18 ELOCUTION. 



MOVEMENTS. 



First : — Remembering the proper standing position, {head erect, 
shoulders thrown back and down, chest expanded, and feet at an angle of 
about seventy-five degrees, — the weight of the body resting on the left foot, 
the right foot a little in advance of the left,) place the hands upon the 
hips, and move the elbow's forcibly backward and forward. 

Second: — After letting the hands fall at the side, move them 
briskly up and down. 

Third: — Let the arms be placed in a vertical position; then 
drawn down, and projected upward with force. 

Fourth: — Extend the arms horizontally forward; then move 
them back and forth quickly and with force. 

Fifth : — Place the arms horizontally forward, with the palms of 
the hands together ; then throw them apart forcibly, bringing the 
back of the hands as nearly as possible behind the back. 

There may be also a variety of exercises in gestures, descriptive or 
passionate, for the purpose of acquiring freedom and grace in movement. 
These must be suggested by the ingenuity and good taste of the teacher. 
{See imcje 2,^1.) 

BREATHINGS. 

First: — Full breathing. — Place the arms and hands as required 
in the first movement ; slowly draw in the breath until the chest is 
fully expanded; emit it with the utmost slowness. [Repeat.) 

Second: — Audible Effusive breathing. — Draw in the breath as in 
full breathing, and expire it audibly in a prolonged sound of the 
letter h. In this style of respiration, the breath merely effuses itself 
into the surrounding air. 

Third: — Expulsive or Forcible breathing. — Draw in a very full 
breath, as before, and send it forth with a lively expulsive force, 
in the sound of h, but little prolonged — as in a moderate, whispered 
cough. The breath is thus projected into the air. 

Fourth: — Explosive or Abrupt breathing. — Fill the lungs, and then 
emit the breath suddenly and forcibly, in the manner of an abrupt 
and whispered cough. Thus the breath is thrown out with abrupt 
violence. 

Fifth: — Sighing. — Suddenly fill the lungs with a full breath, and 
emit it as quickly as possible. 

Sixth: — Gasping. — With a convulsive effort, inflate the lungs; 
then send forth the breath more gently. 

Seventh: — Panting. — Breathe quickly and violently, making the 
emission of the breath loud and forcible. 
P 



INTKODUCTION. 19 

For exercise of the voice, especially in articulation, the table of 
elementary sounds and the preliminary exercises should be used 
daily and with most assiduous practice. 

The table should be used : 

First, — in a distinct and moderate utterance of all the sounds. 

Second, — in an explosive and forcible manner of making each 
sound. 

Third, — in the application of all the elements of elocution while 
producing the several sounds ; as, Emphasis, Inflection, Pitch, Force, 
Tone (especially the Orotund), Movement, &c. (See page 21.) 



20 ELOCUTIOJ^". 



ARTICULATION. 

Articulation is the act of forming with the organs of 
speech, the elements of vocal language. 

"Without good articulation, it is impossible to be a coj-reet reader or 
speaker. Those who have been accustomed to pronounce their words in 
a careless or slovenly manner, will find it difficult, even with their best 
efforts, to utter them distinctly. The organs of articulation, for the want 
of proper exercise, become, as it were, paralyzed. The pupil, therefore, at 
the very commencement of his studies, should be conducted through a series 
of exercises, calculated to strengthen the muscles of articulation." — Corn- 
stock. 

" In just articulation, the words are not to be hurried over, nor precipi- 
tated syllable upon syllable; nor, as it were, melted together in a mass of 
confusion : they should not be trailed, nor drawledj nor permitted to slip 
out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. They should be delivered from 
the lips as beautiful coins newly issued from the mint, deeply and accu- 
rately impressed, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due suc- 
cession, and of due weight." — Austin. 

A vowel or tonic is a sound which has full and distinct 
vocalitj, being uninterrupted in its passage through the 
vocal organs. 

A sub-vowel or sub-tonic is a sound which has vocality, 
though not so perfect as that of the vowel, being partially 
interrupted in its passage through the voca;l organs. 

An aspirate or atonic is a mere current of whispering 
breath. 

Cognates are letters whose elements are produced by the 
same organs, in a similar manner ; thus, p is a cognate of 
h, t of d, &c. 

English philologists have, according to their real or affected 
nicety of ear, differed on the subject of the number of elements of 
their language. The differences refer to the character of the sounds, 
or to the time or manner of pronouncing them. 

The arrangement by Dr. Comstock is deemed the best adapted for 
practical purposes of illustration and comparison. The alphabet 
thus consists of thirty-eight elements; these being divided into 
vowels, sub-vowels, and aspirates, — or, into tonics, sub-tonics, and 
atonies. 



ARTICULATION. 



21 







SIMPLE ELEMENTS. 






Vowels or Tonics. 
The sound of 


Sub-vowels or Sub- 
Tonics. 
The sound of 


Aspirates or Atonies. 

The sound of 


. i as in ale 


b as in bow 


p as 


in pit 


k ." 


arm 


d " 


day 


t * 


tin 


k - 


all 
an 


g " 


gay 

yile 


k ' 
f ' 


kite 
fame 


5 " 


eve 


tb " 


then 


th ' 


' thin 


k '' 


end 


z " 


zone 


s " 


sin 


1 " 


ile 


z " 


azure 


sh ' 


shade 


6 " 


in 
old 


1 " 
r " 


light 
roll 


h ' 

wh " 


hush 
what 


6 " 
6 " 


lose 
on 


(r '' 
m " 


car) 
mind 






ii - 


tube 


n " 


no 






4 " 


up 

full 


ng " 
w " 


song 
woe 






ou " 


out 


y " 


yoke 







COMPOUND ELEMENTS. 

The sound of oi as in oil I The sound of j as in job IThe sound of tchas in etch 
ai " air | gz " tugs [ ks " oaks. 

Pronounce each word in the three columns clearly and distinctly. 

Make a full inspiration, and dwell for two or three seconds on the 
initial element ; utter the remainder of the word with a sudden and 
forcible expulsion of the breath. 

(In the second and third columns — omitting the words song and hut — ■ 
this exercise will serve to designate the separate sound of each sub-vowel 
and aspirate.) 

Utter each element with the falling slide of the voice, — the vowels 
with explosive force. 

Continue at pleasure any of the following exercises. 

bd, ba, ba, ba; b6, b^ ; bl, bi; \)d; &c. Continue the exercise, pre- 
fixing to every vowel, each sub-vowel and aspirate in succession. 

ab, ab, ab, ab; eb, eb; ib, ib; ob, &g., &o. Continue the exercise, affixing 
to every vowel, each sub-vowel and aspirate in succession. 



ba-pa 


da-ta 


va-fa 


thn-thn 


ja-tcha 


gsa-ksa 


ba-pa 


da-ta 


va-fa 


thu-tha, 


ja-tcha 


gsa-ksa 


ba-pa 


da-ta 


va-fa 


tha-thsi 


ja-tcha 


gsa-ksa 


ba-pa 


da-ta 


va-fa 


tha-thsi 


ja-tcha 


gsa-ksa 


be-be 


de-te 


ve-fe 


the-the 


je-tche 


gse-kse 


be-be 


de-te 


ve-fe 


tJie-the 


je-tche 


gse-kse 


bu-pu 


du-tu 


vu-fu 


^7m-thu 


ju-tchu 


gsu-ksu 


bou-pou 


dou-tou 


vou-fou 


<^ou-thou 


jou-tchou 


gsou-ksou 


boi-poi 


doi-toi 


voi-foi 


«7ioi-thoi 


joi-tchoi 


gsoi-ksoi 


bai-pai 


dai-tai 


vai-fai 


f/)ai-thai 


jai-tchai 


gsni-ks;ti 



22 



ELOCUTION". 



This exercise may be varied by changing the accent, or by increasing the 
number of syllables ; — thus : 

ba^-pa, ba-pa^; ba^-pa-pa, ba-pa^-pa, ba-pa-pa^; ba-pa' — pa-ba-', 



&c. 



wa-va-wa-va 
wa-va-wa-va 
wa-va-wa-va 
wa-va-wa-va 
we-ve-we-ve 
we-ve-we-ve 



wu-vu-wa-vu 
wou-vou-wou-vou 
woi-voi-woi-voi 
wai-vai-wai-vai 



va-wa-wa-va 
va-wa-wa-va 
va-wa-wa-va 
va-wa-wa-va 
ve-we-we-ve 
ve-we-we-ve 



vu-wu-wu-vu 
vou-wou-wou-vou 
voi-woi-woi-voi 
vai-wai-wai-vai 



wa-wha-wha 
wa-wha-wha 
wa-wha-wha 
wa-wha-wha 
we-whe-whe 
we-whe-whe 



wu-whu-whu 
wou-whou-whou 
woi-whoi-whoi 
wai-whai-whai 



wha-wa-wa 
wha-wa-wa 
wha-wa-wa 
wha-wa-wa 
whe-we-we 
whe-we-we 



whu-wu-wu 
whou-wou-wou 
whoi-woi-woi 
whai-wai-wai 



da-ga-ta-ka 
da-ga-ta-ka 
da-ga-ta-ka 
da-ga-ta-ka 
de-ge-te-ke 
de-o:e-te-ke 



du-gu-tu-ku 
dou-gou-tou-kou 
doi-goi-toi-koi 
dai-oai-tai-kai 



thsi-zsb-tha-aa, 
r/<a-za-tha-sa 
fAa-za-tha-sa 
?7ia-za-tha-sa 
the-ze-ilie-se 
the-ze-the-se 



i/m-zu-thu-su 
<7;ou-zou-thou-so 
^Aoi-zoi-thoi-soi 
*/tai-zai-thai-sai 



The following combinations are well adapted for these exercises: — 
bri, br^, bri, br^, br6, hrk, &c. 
dra, dra, dra, dra, dre, dre, &c. 
bra-pra, bra-pra, bra-pra, bra-pra, &c. 
bra-pra-pra, bra-pra-pra, &c. 
bra-pra-pra-bra, bra-pra-pra-bra, &c. 
bla, bla, bla, bla, ble, ble, &c. 
bla-pla, bla-pla, bla-pia, pla-pla, &c. 
bla-pla-pla, bla-pla-pla, bla-pla-pla, &e. 
spra, spra, spra, spra, spre, spre, <fcc. 
stra, stra, stra, stra, stre, stre, &c. 
skra, skra, skra, skra, skre, skre, &c. 
spla, spla, spla, spla, sple, sple, &c. 
arb, arb, arb, arb, erb, erb, &c. 
ard, ard, ard, ard, erd, erd, &c. 
amd, amd, amd, amd, emd, emd, &c. 
amds, amds, amds, amds, emds, emds, &g. 
amdst, amdst, amdst, amdst, emdst, emdst, &c. 
alst, alst, alst, alst, elst, elst, &o. 
amst, amst, amst, amst, emst, emst, &c 
anst, anst, anst, anst, enst, enst. &c. 
arst, arst, arst, arst, erst, erst, &c. 
adst, adst, adst, adst, edst, edst, &c. 
armdst, armdst, armdst, armdst, ermdst, &c. 
amdst, amdst, amdst, amdst, emdst, &c. 
abl, abl, abl, abl, ebl, ebl, &c. 



ARTICULATION. 23 

apl, apl, apl, apl, epl, epl, <fec. 

adl, adl, adl, adl, edl, edl, &g. 

adld, adld, adld, adld, edld, edld, <fec. 

apld, apld, apld, apld, epld, epld, <fcc. 

arid, arid, arid, arid, erld, erld, &c. 

angs, angs, angs, angs, engs, engs, &c. 

angd, angd, angd, angd, engd, engd, &c. 

angst, angst, angst, angst, engst, engst, &c. 

angdst, angdst, angdst, angdst, engdst, engdst, &g. 

These exercises, as before stated, should be practised 
with every variety of emphasis, inflection, pitch, force, 
tone, movement, &c. 

According to Dr. Wallis, the author of an English grammar in the 
reign of Charles the Second, words beginning with st always de- 
note firmness and strength, analogous to the Latin sto ; as, stand, 
stay, staff, stop, stout, steady, statue, stamp, ^c. 

Words beginning with str intimate violent force and energy ; as, 
strive, strength, stress, stripe, ^c. I^Ar implies forcible motion ; as, throw, 
throh, thrust, threaten, thraldom, thrill; gl, smoothness or silent mo- 
tion ; as, glib, glide ; wr, obliquity or distortion ; as, wry, wrest, wres- 
tle, wring, wrong, wrangle, wrath, ^c. ; sw, silent agitation, or lateral 
motion ; as, sway, swing, swerve, sweep, swim ; si, a gentle fall or less 
observable motion; as, slide, slip, slide, slit, slow, slack, sling ; sp, dis- 
sipation or expansion ; as, spread, sprout, split, spill, spring. 

Terminations in ash indicate something acting nimbly and 
sharply ; as, crash, dash, rash, flash, lash, slash ; terminations in ush, 
something acting more obtusely and dully ; as, crush, brush, hush, 
gush, blush. 

"Many more examples of the same kind seem to leave no doubt that the 
analogies of sound have had some influence on the formation of words. At 
the same time, in all speculations of this kind, there is so much room for 
fancy to operate, that they ought to be adopted with much caution in 
forming any general theory." — Chalmers. 

"It is a fact familiar in the experience'of most teachers, that, after the 
utmost care in the systematic cultivation of the utterance of young readers, 
by regular analytic exercises, the influence of colloquial negligence in habit 
is so powerful, that the same individual who has just articulated, with per- 
fect exactness, the elements in a column, — while he is kept mechanically 
on his guard against error by attention to details, — will, immediately on 
beginning to read a page of continuous expression of thought, relapse into 
his wonted errors of enunciation. To correct this tendency, no resort is so 
effectual as that of studying analytically a few lines, previous to commenc- 
ing the usual practice of a reading-lesson. The attention must first be turned 
to the words as such, — as forms of articulation, — then to thejr sounds in 
connection with their meaning. 

The following will be found useful modes of practising such exercises 
as are now suggested. Begin at the end of a line, sentence, or paragraph, 
so as to prevent the possibility of reading negligently ; then, 



24 ELOCUTION. 

First : — Articulate separately and very distinctly, every elentent in every 
word, throughout the line or sentence. 

Second: — Enunciate clearly and exactly, every syllable of each word 
throughout the line or sentence. 

Tliird : — Pronounce every word in the same style. 

Fourth : — Read the line or sentence from the beginning, forward, with 
strict attention to the manner of pronouncing each word. 

Fifth: — Read the whole liae or sentence with an easy, fluent enuncia- 
tion, paying strict attention to the expression of the meaning, but without 
losing correctness in the style of pronunciation. 

This is, apparently, a merely mechanical drill; but its effects are strik- 
ingly beneficial in a very short time. The habits of classes of young 
readers have thus been, in some instances, effectually changed in a few 
weeks, from slovenliness and indistinctness to perfect precision and pro- 
priety, united to fluency and freedom of style." — Russell. 

Concrete and Discrete Sounds. 

When the voice flows in one continuous, uninterrupted stream of 
Bound, it is called a concrete sound or movement ; but when this 
stream is interrupted by breaks, it is called a discrete sound or 
movement. The former resemble the tones of the organ, the latter 
the distinct tones of the pianoforte. 

When the letter a, as heard in the word day, is pronounced sim- 
ply as an alphabetic element, without intensity or emotion, and as 
if it were a continuation, not a close of utterance, two sounds are 
heard continuously successive ; the first has the nominal sound of 
this letter, and issues with a certain degree of fulness ; the last is 
the element e, as heard in eve, gradually diminished to an attenuated 
close. 

This opening fulness of sound, here described, has been denomi- 
nated by Dr. Rush, the Eadical movement, "because the following or 
vanishing portion of the elementary rises (in the vanish) concretely 
from it as from a base or root ; " the last part he calls the Vanishing 
movement, "because it becomes gradually weaker, until it finally 
dies away into silence." 

Vowel Sounds. 

The vowels are divided into Monothongs, Diphthongs, and Triph- 
thongs. 

The Monothongs consist of one kind of sound throughout their 
concrete movement, and consequently are simple elements ; they 
are represented by the italics in the following words : arm, all, an, 
eve, end, m, on, wp, and full. 

The Diphthongs consist of two vowel sounds, which coalesce so 
intimately that they appear like one uniform sound ; they are rep- 
resented by the italics in the following words : ale, zle, lose, t^be. 



ARTICULATIOISr. 25 

The diphthong i, as well as i, has a characteristic sound for its 
radical, and the monothong i for its vanish. These diphthongs, 
when carried through a wide range of pitch, as in interrogation 
with surprise, are converted into triphthongs, the third constituent 
being the monothong e. 

The diphthong 6, as well as A, has a characteristic sound for its 
radical, and the subvowel w for its vanish. 

The Triphthongs consist of three vowel sounds which coalesce so 
intimately that they appear like one uniform sound ; they are rep- 
resented by the italics in the following words : old, ouv. 

The first constituent of 5, as well as that of ou, is a sound charac- 
teristic of this element ; and the diphthong 6 constitutes the second 
and third constituents of triphthongs. 

Should it be asked why diphthongs and triphthongs are designated as 
elementary, when each may be resolved into greater simplicity, Dr. Kush 
replies, " Though compounded of different successive sounds, yet these are 
inseparable in utterance; and regarding an element as a single impulse of 
the voice, the diphthong must be classed with it." 

The principal defects in articulation may be classed as 
follows: — 

First: Feebleness ; — arising from the want of. a full and forcible 
emission of voice, and of due energy in the action of the organs, — 
particularly the tongue, the teeth, and the lips. 

Second : Omission ; — a fault occasioned by undue rapidity, and 
sometimes by an inadvertent compliance with incorrect custom; as, 
kn for ^nd, in 'Is for in his, &c. 

Third: Obscurity; — caused by the want of precision and accu- 
racy in the functions of the organs, and a consequent want of defi- 
niteness or correctness in the sounds of letters and syllables; as, 
shhll for shtiU — ffo-fin for go^-hiff, &G. 

" The rule of practice, therefore, in regard to the exercises of 
reading and speaking, should be always to articulate with such energy, 
deliberateness, and accuracy, that every sound of the voice may be 
fully and exactly formed, distinctly heard, and perfectly understood. 
A drawling slowness, however, and a pedantic or irregular promi- 
nence of unaccented syllables, should be carefully avoided. Faults 
arising from slovenliness, and those which seem to spring from mis- 
directed study, are equally objectionable." — Russell. 
3 



26 ELOCUTION, 



PKONUNCIATION'. 

Articulation regards the functions of the organs of 
speech ; Prominciation, the sound produced by these func- 
tions, as conforming to or deviating from the modes of 
good usage. 

Orthoepy may be defined as the analysis of true pronun- 
ciation, — being that part of articulation which treats of the 
correct sounds' given to single letters or single words, with- 
out reference to their mutual dependence on each other. 

One of the most eifectual methods of correcting errors in articu- 
lation will be found in analyzing the true pronunciation of words — 
spelling words according to their sound, thus : — 

of — 6-v going — g-6'' — i-ng 

was — w-d-z himself — h-i-m— s-S-l-f 

and — S,-n-d against — a — g-l-n-s-t' 

from — f-r-d-m kindness — k-l-n-d' — n-S-s 

shall — sh-i-1 glory — g-1-6' — r-6 

facts — f-^-k-t-z sacrifice — s-i-k' — r-i — f-l-z, &c. 

"Speech being merely a collection of arbitrary sounds, used as signs of 
thought or feeling, it is indispensable to intelligible communication, that 
there be a general agreement about the signification assigned to given 
sounds; as otherwise there could be no common language. It is equally 
important that there be a common consent and established custom, to reg- 
ulate and fix the sounds used in speech, tbat these may have a definite 
character and signification, and become the current expression of thought. 
Hence, the necessity that individuals conform, in their habits of speech, to 
the rules prescribed by general usage, — or, more properly speaking, to 
the custom of the educated and intellectual classes of society, which is, by 
courtesy, generally acknowledged as the law of pronunciation. Individual 
opinion, when it is at variance with this important and useful principle of 
accommodation, gives rise to eccentricities, which neither the authority of 
profound learning, nor that of strict accuracy and system can redeem from 
the charge of pedantry. 

"It is a matter of great importance, to recognize the rule of authoinzed 
custom, and neither yield to the influence of those errors which, through- 
inadvertency, will creep into occasional or local use; nor, on the other 
hand, be induced to follow innovations or changes adopted without sufii- 
cient sanction. A cultivated taste is always perceptible in pronunciation, 
as in every other expression of mind; and errors in pronouncing are 
unavoidably associated with a deficiency in the rudiments of a good educa- 
tion." — Russell. 

"A few brief stanzas may be well employed 
To speak of errors we can all avoid. 
Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope 
The careless churl who speaks of soap for soap ; 



SYLLABICATION. 27 

% 

Her edict exiles from her fair abode 
The clownish voice that utters road for road; 
Less stern to him who calls his coat a coat, 
And steers his boat believing it a boat. 
She pardoned one, our classic city's boast, 
Who said, at Cambridge, most instead of most; 
But knit her brow;, and stamp'd her angry foot, 
To hear a teacher call a root a root. 

' Once more, speak clearly, if you speak at all; 
Carve every word before you let it fall; 
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, 
Try over-hard to roll the British R ; 
Do put your accents in the proper spot; 

Don't — let me beg you — don't say " How ? " for " What ? " 
And when you stick on conversation's burs, 
Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs." — Holmes. 



SYLLABICATION. 

A syllable is so much of a word as can be pronounced 
by one impulse of the voice ; as con, in confess. 

An interruption of the concrete, whether made wilfully by pause, or 
necessarily by the occurrence of an abrupt or an atonic element, is 
unavoidably the end of one syllable, and the preface to the beginning 
of another. 

A Monosyllable is a word of one syllable; as, love. 

A Dissyllable is a word of two syllables ; as, lovely. 

A Trisyllable is a word of three syllables; as, loveliness. 

A Polysyllable is a word of/owror more syllables; as, unloveliness, 
illimitable. 

The Ultimate is the last syllable of a word. 

The Penult, or Penultimate, is the last syllable but one in a word. 

The Antepenult, or Antepenultimate, is the last syllable but two of a 
word. 

The Preantepenult, or Preantepenultimate, is the last syllable but 
three of a word. 

"The various lengths of syllables depend on the nature and arrange- 
ment of their constituent elements, in the execution of the radical and 
vanish." — Eush. 

Quantity is the time occupied in pronouncing a letter, 
syllable, or word. It also includes earnestness. (See 
page 54.) 

An immutable syllable is one that cannot be prolonged but with 
deformed pronunciation ; as vict, in the word convict. 

A mutable syllable is one which admits a slight change in quan- 
tity, but which, with undue prolongation, has the same offensive 



28 ELOCUTION. 

drawl perceived in the forced extension of the immutable class ; as, 
ffratitude, destruction. 

An indefinite syllable is one which seems to be the same under 
every degree of prolongation ; as, he-ffuile, si-lent. 



ACCENT.* 

Accent is stress of the voice laid upon a syllable in a 
word, in order to distinguish it from the other syllables ; 
as, on sist, in the word con-szs^. 

With the exception of amen, every word in the English language of more 
than one syllable, has one of these syllables accented. 

Accent is determined by custom or ffood use ; the standard of dic- 
tionaries being based on the practice of the best speakers. It may 
however be changed by emphasis ; as, *' He must zn^crease, but I must- 
£?e^crease." 

Harmony of versification may also require a change in the accent ; 
as, 

"To persever 
In obstinate condolement, is a course 
Of impious stubbornness." 

Queen to Hamlet. 

The accent also varies according to the part of speech, and the 
meaning of the word; as, "I refuse^ the re/'use." "I will not desert^ 
him even in the c?es''ert." 

Primary Accent is stress placed on the most important syllable 
in a word. 

In trisyllables or polysyllables, Secondary Accent is inferior 
stress placed on one or two syllables besides that which receives 
primary accent, in order to promote distinctness and euphony. 

"Correct accent is indispensable in reading and speaking,' not merely as 
a convenience of intelligible expression, and as a result of education, but 
as an indication of intelligence and of taste, in regard to language, and as 
an element of all distinct and spirited expression. The accented syllable 
of every expressive word becomes the seat of life in utterance; and there 
can be no surer way of rendering the exercise of reading unmeaning and 
uninteresting, than to indulge the three prevalent faults of slighting the 
accent of words, unduly prolonging and forcing it, and distributing its 
effect over several syllables of a word, instead of confining it to one." — 
Mussell. 



* Accent and Emphasis belong properly under the head of Stress, though 
they are here inserted to meet the necessities of teaching. 



EMPHASIS. 29 



EMPHASIS. 

Empliasis is the stress of the voice laid upon a word to 
distinguish it from the other words in the same sentence ; 
as, 

The repose of the soul is exercise, not rest. — Robertson. 

Emphasis may also be defined as the expressive, but occasional distinc- 
tion of a syllable, and thereby the whole word, or of several successive 
words, by one or more of the various forms and degrees of Time, Quality, 
Force, Abruptness, and Pitch. 

"It is the manner of uttering emphatic words which decides the mean- 
ing of every sentence that is read or spoken. A true emphasis conveys a 
sentiment clearly and forcibly to the mind, and keeps the attention of an 
audience in active sympathy with the thoughts of the speaker; it gives 
full value and effect to all that he utters, and secures a lasting impression 
on the memory." — Russell. 
■ « 

Emphasis is determined by the sentiment It is divided 
into Absolute Emphasis, or Empbasis of Speciflcation, and 
Antithetic Emphasis. 

Absolute Emphasis is that used to express strong emo- 
tion, or the peculiar permanence of a thought, solely, singly 
considered ; as, . 

"We judge of a man's wisdom by his hope, knowing that the per- 
ception of the inexhaustibleness of nature is an immortal youth." — 
Emerson. 

Antithetic Emphasis is emphasis placed on words expres- 
sive of contrast or comparison ; as. 

In reading, be carefulto distinguish between a thought and a, feel- 
ing — an idea and a sentiment. 

When emphasis is placed on but one word in a phrase, it is called 
Simple Emphasis; when on more than one, it is named Compound Emphasis. 

In Compound Emphasis, the stress upon the most important of the 
emphatic words is called Superior Emphasis; that on the inferior, or least 
important of these, is called Inferior Emphasis. 

A word, unless repeated for the purpose of more strongly express- 
ing the same idea, should not be made emphatic more than once in 
the same connection. 

"Care should be taken to avoid the two extremes of omitting or slighting 
emphasis, and of evincing an excessive anxiety with regard to it by the 
3* . 



80 ELOCUTION". 

unnecessary and formal marking of it by studied force of expression. A 
great defect in reading is the use of the circumflex upon most of the 
emphatic words ; the wave, it should be remembered, belongs properly to 
irony or ridicule, — to the peculiar significance of words and phrases 
embodying logical and grammatical niceties of distinction, — or to the 
studied and peculiar emphasis which belongs to the utterance of a word 
intended to convey a pun." 

A very useful exercise is that of requiring of the pupils, previous to 
reading a sentence, a statement of the sentiment in his own words ; the 
object being to attain a clear and accurate conception of the meaning, — 
the true preparation for right emphasis. 

The emphasis of emotion may in part be communicated from the teacher's 
own reading; there may also be conversation upon the passage to be read, 
until from sympathetic and vivid interest in the idea, the pupils may 
express the emotion as their own. , 

The faulty emphasis of the circumflex must be removed by repeated 
practice of examples, and by expedients adapted to individual cases. 
Mutual correction by the pupils will be very important here, as in all other 
departments of elocution. 

" Next to those whose elocution is absorbed in action, and who converse 
chiefly with their arms and legs, we may consider the professed speakers, — 
and, first, the eir.phatical, — who squeeze, and press, and ram down every 
syllable with excessive vehemence and energy. These orators are remark- 
able for their distinct elocution and force of expression ; they dwell on the 
important particles 0/ and the, and the significant conjunction and, — which 
they seem to hack up with much difiiculty, out of their own throats, and 
to cram — with no less pain — into the ears of their auditors. These should 
be sufi'ered only to syringe (as it were) the ears of a deaf man through a 
hearing-trumpet; though I must confess I am equally off"ended with the 
■whisjjerers, or low speakers, who seem to fancy all their acquaintance deaf, 
and come up so close to you, that they may be said to measure noses with 
you. I would have these oracular gentry obliged to talk at a distance 
through a speaking-trumpet, or appl}^ their lips to the walls of a whisper- 
ing-gallery. The loits, who will not condescend to utter anything but a 
Ion-mot, and the whistlers, or tune-hummers, who never talk at all, may 
be joined very agreeably together in a concert; and to these 'tinkling 
cymbals' I would also add the ' sounding-brass,' the hawler, who inquires 
after your health with the bellowing of a town-crier." — The Sj^ectator. 

EXAMPLES ILLUSTEATING EMPHASIS OF SPECIFICATION.* 

"In all ages Love is the tl'uth of life. Men cannot injure us ex- 
cept so far as they exasperate us to forget ourselves. No man is 
really dishonored except by his own act. Calumny, injustice, in- 
gratitude, — the only harm these can do us is by making us bitter, 
or rancorous, or gloomy ; by shutting our hearts, or souring our 
affections. We rob them of their powder, if they only leave us more 
sweet and forgiving than before. And this is the only true victory.. 
We win by love. Love transmutes all curses, and forces them to 

* In reading, the pupil should remember to observe the proper standing 
position, — holding the book in the left hand, opposite the cheJit, a short 
distance from the body. 



ILLUSTRATION'S. — ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS. 31 

rain down blessings.* Our enemies become unconsciously our best 
friends, when their slanders deepen in us heavenlier graces. Let 
them do their worst ; they only give us the Godlike victory of for- 
giving them." — Rev. F. W. RoherUon. 

"If men lived like men indeed, their houses would be temples — 
temples which we should hardly dare to injure, and in which it 
would make us holy to be permitted to live. When men do not love 
their hearths, nor reverence their thresholds, it is a sign that they 
have dishonored both, and that they have never acknowledged the 
true universality of that Christian worship, which was indeed to 
supersede the idolatry, but not the piety of the pagan. Our God is 
a household God, as well as a heavenly one. He has an altar in 
every man's dwelling; let men look to it when they rend it lightly 
and pour out its ashes." — John Rusldn. 

"There is a sacredness in individuality of character; each one 
born into this world is a fresh, new soul intended by his Maker to 
develop himself in a new, fresh way. We are what we are ; we 
cannot be truly other than ourselves. We reach perfection not by 
copying, much less by aiming at originality ; but by consistently 
and steadily working out the life which is common to us all, accord- 
ing to the character which God has given us. There is one universe 
in which each separate star differs from another in glory ; one 
Church, in which a single Spirit, the life of God, pervades each 
separate soul ; and just in proportion as that life becomes exalted, 
does it enable every one to shine forth in the distinctness of his own 
separate individuality, like the stars of heaven." — Robertson. 

" Nature, that great missionary of the Most High, preaches to us 
forever in all tones of love, and writes truth in all colors, on manu- 
scripts illuminated with stars and flowers. If we were in harmony 
with thewAoZe, we might understand her. Here and there a spirit, 
less at discord, hears semi-tones in the ocean and wind, and when 
the stars look into his heart, he is stirred with dim recollection of 
a universal, language, which would reveal all, if he only remem- 
bered the alphabet." — ifrs. L. M. Child. 



* When the article the precedes a word beginning with a consonant, it 
should be pronounced the — ; when it precedes a word beginning with a 
vowel, it should be pronounced the. 

The article a should be pronounced a — like the a in an. 

When made emphatic, a should be pronounced a — and the, the; as, Did 
you say a country or the country ? 

The pronoun my, except in serious discourse, or when made emphatic, 
is usually pronounced m't 



82 ELOCUTION. 

" God and good angels alone know the vast, the incalculable in- 
fluence that goes out into the universe of spirit, and thence flows 
into the universe of matter, from the conquered evil and the voice- 
less prayer of one solitary soul. Wouldst thou bring the world unto 
God? Then live near to him thyself. If divine life pervade thine 
own soul, everything that touches thee will receive the electric 
spark, though thou mayest be unconscious of being charged there- 
with. This surely would be the highest, to strive to keep near the 
holy, not for the sake of our own reward here or Jtiereafter, but 
that through love to God, we might bless our neighbor." — Ihid. 

** There can be no meaner type of human selfishness than that 
afforded by him, who, unmindful of the world of sin and suffering 
about him, occupies himself in the pitiful business of saving his own 
soul in the very spirit of the miser, watching over his private hoard 
while his neighbors starve for lack of bread. But surely, the benev- 
olent unrest, the far-reaching sympathies and keen sensitiveness to 
the suffering of others, which so nobly distinguish our present age, 
can have nothing to fear from a plea for personal holiness, patience, 
hope, and resignation to the Divine will. ' The more piety, the more 
compassion,' says Isaac Taylor ; and this is true, if we under- 
stand by piety, not self-concentred asceticism, but the pure religion 
and undefiled, which visits the widow and the fatherless, and yet 
keeps itself unspotted from the world, — which deals justly, loves 
mercy, and yet walks humbly before God. Self-scrutiny in the light 
of truth, can do no harm to any one, least of all to the reformer and 
philanthropist. The spiritual warrior, like the young candidate for 
knighthood, may be none the worse for his preparatory ordeal of 
watching all night by his armor." — Whittier. 

" We fear and hate the utterly unknown, and it only. Even pain 
we hate only when we cannot know it, — when we can only feel it, 
without explaining it and making it harmonize with our notions of 
our own deserts and destiny. And as for human beings, there 
surely it stands true, wherever else it may not, that all knowledge 
is love, and all love knowledge ; that even with the meanest, we can- 
not gain a glimpse into their inward trials and struggles, without 
an increase of sympathy and affection." — Kingsley. 

"If speech is the bank-note for an inward capital of culture, of 
insight and noble human worth, then speech is precious, and the 
art of speech shall be honored. But if there is no. inward capital; 
if speech represent no real culture of the mind, but an imaginary 
culture ; no bullion, but the fatal and almost hopeless deficit of such ? 



ILLUSTRATION'S. — ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS. 33 

Alas, Alas, said bank-note is then 9, forged one; passing freely cur- 
rent in the market, but bringing damages to the receiver, to the 
payer, and to all the world ; which are in sad truth infallible, and of 
an amount incalculable. . . . Considered as the last finish of educa- 
tion, or of human culture, worth, and acquirement, the art of speech 
is noble and even divine; it is like the kindling of a Heaven's light 
to show us what a glorious world exists and has peopled itself, in 
a man. But if no world exist in the man ; if nothing but continents 
of empty vapor, of greedy self-conceits, commonplace hearsays, and 
indistinct loomings of a sordid chaos exist in him ; what will be the 
use of light to show us that ? Better a thousand times that such a 
man do not speak ; but keep his empty vapor and his sordid chaos 
to himself. .... 

<'A11 human talent, especially all deep talent, is a talent to do, 
and is intrinsically of a silent nature ; inaudible, like the Sphere 
Harmonies and Eternal Melodies, of which it is an incarnated frac- 
tion. All real talent, I fancy, would much rather, if it listened 
only to Nature's monitions, express itself in rhythmic facts than 
melodious words, which latter, at best, where they are good for 
anything, are only a feeble echo and shadow or foreshadow of the 
former." — Carlyle. 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS. 
"It is not by regretting what is irreparable that true work is to 
be done, but by making the best of what we are. It is not by com- 
plaining that we have not the right tools, but by using well the tools 
we have. What we are, and where we are, is God's providential 
arrangement — God's doing, though it maybe man's misdoing ; and 
the manly and the wise way is to look your disadvantages in the face, 
and see what can be made out of them. Forget mistakes ; organize 
victory out of mistakes." — Robertson. 

" There are two wings by which a man soars above the world, — 
Sincerity and Purity. The former regards the intention, the latter 
the affections : that aspires and aims at a likeness to God, this makes 
us really like him." — Thomas a Kempis. 

"Patience and sorrow strove 
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
Were like a better day. Those happy smiles. 
That played on her ripe lips, seemed not to know 
What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence, 
As pearls from diamonds dropped." — Shakespeare. 



34 ELOCUTION. 

"Veracity implies a correspondence between words and thoughts; 
truthfulness, a correspondence between thoughts and realities. To 
be veracious, it is only necessary that a man give utterance to his 
convictions; to be true, it is needful that his convictions have 
affinity with Fact 

"He is a man of integrity who hates untruth as untruth; who 
resents the smooth and polished falsehood of society, which does no 
harm; who turns in indignation from the glittering, whitened lie 
of sepulchral Pharisaism, which injures no one. Integrity recoils 
from deceptions which men would almost smile to hear called de- 
ception. To a moral, pure mind, the artifices in every department 
of life are painful ; the stained wood, which passes for a more firm 
and costly material in a building, and deceives the eye, by seeming 
what it is not, marble ; the painting which is intended to be taken 
for a reality; the gilding which is meant to pass for gold; and the 
glass which is worn to look like jewels : for there is a moral feeling 
and a truthfulness in architecture, in painting, and in dress, as well 
as in the market-place, and in the senate, and in the judgment- 
hall. "— i?oSer^sow. 

"What is companionship, when nothing that improves the intellect 
is communicated, and where the larger heart contracts itself to the 
model and dimension of the smaller ? 'Tis a dire calamity to have a 
slave; 'tis an inexpiable curse to 6e one." — Landor. 

" Better be a nettle in the side of your friend than his echo. The 
condition which high friendship demands is ability to do without 
it. That high oflSce requires great and sublime parts. There must 
be very two, before there can be very one. Let it be an alliance of 
two large, formidable natures, mutually beheld, mutually feared, 
before yet they recognize the deep identity which beneath these 
disparities unites them. . . . 

" The only reward of virtue is virtue ; the only way to have a 

friend is to be one The essence of friendship is entireness, 

a total magnanimity and trust." — Emerson. 

"Man cannot Imoio unless he can worship in some way. His 
knowledge is a pedantry and dead thistle otherwise. It is a calumny 
on men to say that they are roused to heroic action by ease, hope 
of pleasure, recompense, sugar-plums of any kind in this world or 
the next ! In the meanest mortal there lies something nobler. The 
poor swearing soldier, hired to be shot, has his 'honor of a sol- 
dier,' different from drill regulations and the shilling a day. It is 
not to taste sweet things, but to do noble and true things, and vin- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS. 35 

dicate himself under God's Heaven, as a god-made Man, that the 
poorest son of Adam dimly longs. Show him the way of doing 
that, the dullest day-drudge kindles into a hero. They wrong man 
greatly who say he is to be seduced by ease. Difficulty, abnegation, 
martyrdom, death, are the allurements that act on the heart of man. 
Kindle the inner genial life of him, you have a flame that burns up 
all lower considerations. Not happiness, but something higher; 
one sees this even in the frivolous classes with their ' point of honor ' 
and the like. Not by flattering our appetites ; no, by awakening 
the Heroic that slumbers in every heart, can any Eeligioh gain fol- 
lowers Is it not better to do Right than Wrong ; the one is to 

the other as life is to death, — as Heaven is to Hell. The one must 
in nowise be done, the other in nowise left undone. You shall not 
measure them ; they are incommeasurable ; the one is death — the 
other life eternal." — Carlyle. 

<' Many disputes have been raised among men as to the difference 
between faith and obedience. It is probable that they are identical 
with God, to whom obedience, that part of our life in Him which is 
seen, and faith, the part which is unseen, are alike open and mani- 
fest. It is evident that an action performed or refrained from, with 
a reference to the Divine pleasure, is as eloquent unto God as a 
prayer or thanksgiving, and as likely to be answered by Him with 
blessing. For to the eye of love, the deeds and gestures that ex- 
press it are as intelligible as its spoken words, an(^ no less accept- 
able and sweet." — Dora Greenwell. 

"Between Christ mocked and Christ rejected there is but a step; 
v/ho shall say how easily it is taken, or how quickly we may pass 
from the hollow homage, the ' Hail, Master ! ' which mocks our Lord, 
to the smiting and buffeting of open outrage ? When Christ is in- 
vested with but the show of sovereignty, the reed placed in his 
hands will be quickly taken, as by. the soldiers, to smite his head. 
This reed is nominal Christianity, a strange slip of a degenerate vine, 
beneath whose blighting shadow a poison-growth of unbelief never 
fails to root itself." — Ihid. 

"He who in his heart of hearts reverences the Good, the True, the 
Holy, — that is, reverences God, — does not tremble at the apparent 
success of attacks upon the outworks of his faith. They may shake 
those who rested on those outworks ; they do not move him whose 
soul reposes on the Truth itself." — Robertson. 

"Truth is eclipsed often, and it sets for a night ; but never is it 
turned aside from its eternal path." — W. Ware. 



36 ELOCUTION. 

"Rise ! for the day is passing, 

And you lie dreaming on ; 
Ihe others have buckled their armor, 

And forth to the fight are gone : 
A place in the ranks awaits you, 

Each man has some part to play ; 
The Past and the Future are nothing, 

In the face of the stern To-day." — Miss Procter. 

" The measure of your duty is the greatness of your advantages, 
and the greatness of your advantages is the standard to which you 
will be subjected in the judgment of Heaven and the judgment of 
history. You (men of America) are set for the hope or the disap- 
pointment of the world. With such a mighty country, with such 
inestimable privileges, with such means of intelligence, virtue, and 
happiness ; with such means of increasing and dispensing them ; so 
young, and yet so strong ; so late, and yet so rich among the 
nations ; there is room to look for good interminably to future gen- 
erations, which the one departing shall leave more abundant for the 
one that comes. In order that such anticipations be not empty 
dreams ; in order that they be not promises to change into mockery, 
vanity, and grief ; it should be the labor of a genuine and noble 
patriotism to raise the life of a nation to the level of its privileges; 
to harmonize its general practice with its abstract principles ; to 
reduce to actual facts the ideals of its institutions ; to elevate instruc- 
tion into knowledge ; to deepen knowledge into wisdom ; to render 
knowledge and wisdom complete in righteousness ; and to make the 
love of country perfect in the love of man." — Giles. 



"Distinct enunciation depends on the true and forcible action of the 
organs of speech. Regarded in connection with the exercise of reading or 
speaking in public, it requires 

First, the j^'epoi'atory act of draioing a full supply of breath, that the 
lungs may be freely expanded, and a sufficient volume of air obtained for 
the production of a strong and clear sound. Second, a vigorous eiutssion or 
expidsion of the breath, to give force and distinctness to the action of those 
organs which render sounds articulate. Third, an energetic, deliberate, 
and exact execution, in the functions of ihe tongue and the lipfi. It is from 
the combination of all these qualities of articulation, that the ear receives 
the true and perfect sound of every letter and syllable, and the mind, the 
exact form and meaning of every word; while a failure in any of these 
points is attended by a weak and inefficient voice, or a defective and indis- 
tinct utterance. 

The qualities requisite to distinct enunciation naturally belong to all 
human beings in the possession of health, and under an adequate impulse 
of the mind ; they are especially characteristic of the activity and elasticity 
of youth, when not perverted or depressed by arbitrary modes of educa- 



DISTINCT ENUNCIATION. 87 

tion, or -when uncorrupted by bad example and neglect. Instruction and 
practice, however, are requisite to develop and confirm these natural, 
good tendencies; but such aids become indispensable "when the habits of 
enunciation have, through unfavorable influences, been stamped with error, 
or when individuals have commenced a course of study, preparatory to a 
profession which requires correctness and fluencj'' in public address. 

A habit of drawing a, full breath has been mentioned as the first prelimi- 
nary to energetic and distinct enunciation. This point will, perhaps, be 
more clearly understood, and its value more distinctly perceived, by 
adverting to the circumstance, that many speakers (adults, through the 
influence of neglected habit, and the young, from agitation or embarrass- 
ment) begin to speak without a full supply of breath, or an entire inflation 
of the lungs, and that the mechanical impulse of speaking commonly 
carries on the action of the voice, without leaving opportunity for a full 
supply of breath to be drawn in the course of the whole exercise. The 
lungs are thus exhausted and injured by being required to furnish (what 
they have not actually received) a volume of air sufficient to create and 
sustain a strong articulate utterance. The whole style of a speaker's 
elocution is thus rendered feeble, indistinct, and unimpressive. A due 
attention to the student's habits of breathing will do much towards en- 
abling him to speak or read with ease and distinctness, as well as to acquire 
a full and habitual energy of voice, and a permanent vigor of the organs 
of speech. • . 

The second requisite to distinct articulation is a forcible exprdsion of 
the breath. Animated conversation on subjects interesting to the mind, 
and especially when a numerous company is addressed, furnishes an idea 
of what is meant by expulsive or forcible utterance; and the voice of a 
sick person, — of an individual in health, when fatigued, — of a person 
overwhelmed with grief, shame, or embarrassment, may serve to illustrate 
the opposite quality of speech, a faint ineff"ective mode of expression. The 
act of public communication by oral address, requires a vigorous exertion 
of the organs, — a thing equally essential to admiration and interest in the 
speaker, and to the phj^sical possibility of his voice being heard, or his 
words understood by his audience. To produce an energetic and distinct 
articulation, the breath must be forcibly expelled, as well as freely inhaled; — 
a full volume of air must be transmitted, with great force, to the minor 
organs of speech, which give a definite character to sound. 

"Where the forcible emission of the breath is neglected, a grave and 
hollow voice, yet feeble and languid in its execution, is unavoidably con- 
tracted, by which the speaker's internal energy is much impaired; and the 
natural efiect of his delivery lost. A strong and adequate utterance, on the 
contrai-y, carries the force outward, and causes it to reach with ease and 
with full effect, over a large space. Expulsive enunciation should receive 
full attention, as an easy and natural means of strengthening the voice, 
and rendering it clear and distinct. As a mode of physical exercise it is 
conducive to inward vigor and to general health; and as an accomplish- 
ment in elocution, it is of the utmost consequence to the appropriate 
expression of elevated sentiment and natural emotion. 

This kind of vocal force, however, must be carefully distinguished 
from that of calling or vociferation, with which it has little in common, 
but which is habitually exemplified by some public speakers, who indulge 
an undisciplined and intemperate energy of feeling or of voice, and by 
children, generally when reading in a large room. It produces the style 
of utterance which most persons erroneously adopt in conversing with a 
deaf person. 

Contrasted with a natural and habitual tone, this mode of utterance 
has a false note, and an effect altogether peculiar to itself; it is the tone 
of physical effort transcending that of mental expression. True force of 
4 



88 ELOCUTION. 

utterance, on the other hand, keeps the tone of meaning predominant, and 
preserves the whole natural voice of the individual, while it increases its 
energy. It differs from the tone of private conversation solely in additional 
force, and a more deliberate and distinct expression. It is the want of this 
style of utterance which creates formal and professional tones, or what is 
not unjustly called a ' school tone.' 

The third constituent of good articulation is to be found in the proper 
functions of the tongne and the lips. These organs divide and modify the 
voice into distinct portions of sound, constituting letters and syllables, and 
consequently require energy and deliberateness, or due force and slowness, 
together with perfect precision, or exactness in their action. 

Energy in the play of these minor organs of speech, is a quality entirely 
distinct from loudness, or mere force in the emission of the voice. A sound 
may come from the lungs and the throat with great vehemence, and j^et 
be very obscure in its peculiar character, because not duly modified by the 
tongue. The voice of a person under the excitement of inebriation, fur- 
nishes sometimes a striking illustration of this distinction. Strong emo- 
tion and great loudness of speech are, from a cause somewhat similar, not 
favorable to a clear expression of meaning, but often have a contrary effect; 
the violence of feeling and of utterance, preventing the true and accurate 
formation of sound. Energy of articulation, on the other hand, consists in 
the force with which the constituent sounds of every word are expressed 
by the exertion of their appropriate organs. It may exist with very little 
of mere loudness, sometimes giving indescribable fervor to a bare whisper. 
It is the quality Avhieh gives form and character to human speech, and 
constitutes it the appropriate vehicle of intellect; although from languor 
and carelessness of habit it is too seldom exemplified in public reading or 
speaking. 

The next point to be observed, in the action of the organs, is deliberate- 
ness or due slowness, the medium between hurry and drawling, — faults 
which are a great hinderance to distinctness; the former producing a mass 
of crowded and confused sounds which make no distinct impression on the 
ear, and leave no intelligible trace on the mind, — and the latter causing 
the voice to lag lazily behind the natural movement of the mind's atten- 
tion, with an unmeaning and disagreeable prolongation of sound, which 
takes away the spirit and the significance of speech. The degree of slow- 
ness required for an accurate and distinct enunciation is such as to leave 
sufficient time for the true and complete formation of every sound of the 
voice, and for the deliberate and regular succession of words and syllables; 
free, however, from any approach to languor and drawling. 

Force and slowness, however, are not the only qualities essential to dis- 
tinct articulation. There must be, in addition to the right degree of these 
properties, a due attention, in every instance, to the nature of the sound 
to be produced, and to that exertion of the organs which is adapted to its 
exact execution. In other words, articulate utterance requires a constant 
exercise of discrimination of the mind, and oi precision or accuracy in the 
movements of the organs of speech. A correct articulation, however, is not 
belabored or artificial in its character. It results from the intuitive and 
habitual action of a disciplined attention. It is easy, fluent, and natural; 
but, like the skilful execution of an accomplished musician, it gives forth 
every sound, even in the most rapid passages, with tru'th and correctness. 
A good enunciation gives to every vowel and consonant its just proportion 
and character; none being omitted, no one blending with another in such 
a manner as to produce confusion, and none so carelessly executed as to 
cause mistake in the hearer, by its resemblance to another." — Russell. 



SELECTIONS. 



SELECTIONS. 

EXTEACT FROM "OUR NATIONAL LIFE." E. P. Whipple. 

In order that America may take its due rank in the common- 
wealth of nations, a literature is needed which shall be the expo- 
nent of its higher life. We live in times of turbulence and change. 
There is a general dissatisfaction, manifesting itself often in rude 
contests and ruder speech, with the gulf which separates principles 
from actions. Men are struggling to realize dim ideals of right and 
truth, and each failure adds to the desperate earnestness of their 
efforts. Beneath all the shrewdness and selfishness of the American 
character, there is a smouldering enthusiasm which flames out 
at the first touch of fire, — sometimes at the hot and hasty words 
of party ; and sometimes at the bidding of great thoughts and un- 
selfish principles. The heart of the nation is easily stirred to its 
depths ; but those who rouse its fiery impulses into action are often 
men compounded of ignorance and wickedness, and wholly unfit to 
guide the passions which they are able to excite. There is no 
country in the world which has nobler ideas embodied in more 
worthless shapes. All our factions, fanaticisms, reforms, par- 
ties, creeds, ridiculous or dangerous though they often appear, are 
founded on some aspiration or reality which deserves a better form 
and expression. There is a mighty power in great speech. If the 
sources of what we call our fooleries and faults were rightly ad- 
dressed, they would echo more majestic and kindling truths. We 
want a poetry which shall speak in clear, loud tones to the people ; 
a poetry which shall make us more in love with our native land, by 
converting its ennobling scenery into the images of lofty thought ; 
which shall give visible form and life to the abstract ideas of our 
written constitutions ; which shall confer upon virtue all the strength 
of principle, and all the energy of passion ; which shall disentangle 
freedom from cant and senseless hyperbole, and render it a thing 
of such loveliness and grandeur as to justify all self-sacrifice ; which 
shall make us love man by the new consecrations it sheds on his 
life and destiny: which shall force through the thin partitions of 
conventionalism and expediency; vindicate the majesty of reason; 
give new power to the voice of conscience, and new vitality to human 
afiection ; soften and elevate passion; guide, enthusiasm in a right 
direction; and speak. out in the high language of men to a nation 
of men. 



40 ELOCUTIOI^. 



STUDIES. Lord Bacon. 

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their 
chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring ; for ornament, 
is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition 
of business ; for, expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of 
particulars, one by one ; but the general counsels, and the plots 
and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. 
To spend too much time in studies, is sloth ; to use them too much 
for ornament, is affectation ; to make judgment wholly by their 
rules, is the humor of a scholar ; they perfect nature, and are per- 
fected by experience — for natural abilities are like natural plants, 
that need pruning by study ; and studies themselves do give forth 
directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by expe- 
rience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and 
wise men use them ; for they teach not their own use ; but that is a 
wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read 
not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, 
nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some 
books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be 
chewed and digested: that is, some books are to be read only in 
parts ; others to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be 
read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also 
may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others ; but 
that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner 
sort of books ; else distilled books are, like common distilled waters, 
flashy things. 

CHARACTER. Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

I have read that those who listened to Lord Chatham felt that 
there was something finer in the man, than anything which he said. 
It has been camplained of our brilliant English historian of the 
French Revolution, that when he has told all his facts about Mira- 
beau, they do not justify his estimate of his genius. The Gracchi, 
Agis, Cleomenes, and others of Plutarch's heroes, do not in the 
record of facts equal their own fame. Sir Philip Sidney, the Earl 
of Essex, Sir Walter Raleigh, are men of great figure, and of few 
deeds. We cannot find the smallest part of the personal weight of 
Washington, in the narrative of his exploits. The authority of the 
name of Schiller is too great for his books. This inequality of the 
reputation to the works or the anecdotes, is not accounted for by 



SELECTIONS. ' 41 

saying that the reverberation is longer than the thunder-clap ; but 
somewhat resided in these men which begot an expectation that 
outran all their performance. The largest part of their power 
was latent. This is that which we call Character, — a reserved 
force which acts directly by presence, and without means. It is 
conceived of as a certain undemonstrable force, a Familiar or 
Genius, by whose impulses the man is guided, but whose counsels he 
cannot impart; which is company for him, so that such men are 
often solitary, or if they chance to be social, do not need society, 
but can entertain themselves very well alone. The purest literary 
talent appears at one time great, at another time small, but charac- 
ter is of a stellar and undiminishable greatness. What others 
affect by talent or by eloquence, this man accomplishes by some 
magnetism. "Half his strength he put not forth." His victories 
are by demonstration of superiority, and not by crossing of bayonets. 
He conquers, because his arrival alters the face of affairs. " 
lole ! how didst thou know that Hercules was a god ? " . " Because," 
answered lole, " I was content the moment my eyes fell on him. 
When I beheld Theseus, I desired that I might see him offer battle, 
or at least guide his horses in the chariot-race ; but Hercules did 
not wait for a contest; he conquered whether he stood, or walked, 
or sat, or whatever thing he did.'' Man,, ordinarily a pendant to 
events, only half attached, and that awkwardly, to the world he 
lives in, in these examples appears to share the life; of things, and 
to be an expression of the same law which controls the tides and the 
sun, numbers and quantities. 

REMINISCENCBS OF ARNOLD AND WORDSWORTH. 

Bev. F. W. Robertson. 

It was my lot, during a short university career, to witness a transi- 
tion and a reaction,- or revulsion of public feeling, with respect to 
two great men. The first of these was one who was every inch a 
man, — Arnold, of Rugby. You will all recollect how, in his earlier 
life, Arnold was covered with suspicion and obloquy, how the wise 
men of that day charged him with latitudinarianism, and I know 
not with how many other heresies. But the public opinion altered, 
and he came to Oxford, and read lectures on modern history. 

Such a scene had not been seen in Oxford before. The lecture- 
room was too small; all adjourned to the Oxford Theatre; and all 
that was most brilliant, all that was most, wise and most distin- 
guished, gathered together there. He walked up to the rostrum 
with a quick step and manly dignity. Those who had loved hira 
4* 



42 ' ELOCUTION". 

when all the world despised him felt that, at last, the hour of their 
triumph had come. But there was something deeper than any 
personal triumph they could enjoy ; and those who saw him then 
will not soon forget the lesson read to them by his calm, dignified, 
simple step, — a lesson teaching them the utter worthlessness of 
unpopularity or of popularity as a test of manhood's worth. 

The second occasion was when, in the same theatre, Wordsworth 
came forward to receive his honorary degree. Scarcely had his 
name been pronounced than, from three thousand voices at once, 
there broke forth a burst of applause, echoed and taken up again 
and again Avhen it seemed about to die away, and that thrice 
repeated, — a cry in which 

Old England's heart and voice unite, 

Whether she hail the wine-cup or the fight, ;. ■ 

Or bid each hand be strong, or bid each heart be light. 

There were young eyes there filled with an emotion of which they 
had no need to be ashamed ; there were hearts beating with the 
proud feeling of triumph, that, at last, the world had recognized 
the merit of the man they had loved so long, and acknowledged as 
their teacher; and yet, when that noise was protracted, there came 
a reaction in their feelings, and they began to perceive that that 
was not, after all, the true reward and recompense for all that 
Wordsworth had done for England; it seemed as if all that noise 
was vulgarizing the poet ; it seemed more natural and desirable to 
think of him afar oflF in his simple dales and mountains, the high- 
priest of nature, weaving in honored poetry his songs to liberty 
and ti-uth, than to see him there, clad in a scarlet robe, and 
bespattered with applause. Two young men went home together, 
part of the way in silence, — and one only gave expression to the 
feelings of the other, when he quoted those well-known-, trite, and 
often-quoted lines, — lines full of deepest truth : — 

One self-approving hour whole worlds outweighs 
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas ; 
And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels, 
Than Csesar with a senate at his heels. 



EXTRACT FROM " JONG'S TREASURIES." John Euskm. 

There is a curious type of us given in one of the lovely, neglected 
works of the last of o^^r great painters. It is a drawing of Kirby 
Lonsdale church-yard, and of its brook, and valley, and hills, and 
folded morning sky beyond. And unmindful alike of these, and of 
the dead who have left these for other valleys and for other skies, 



SELECTIONS. 43 

a group of school-boys have piled their little books upon a grave, to 
strike them off with stones. So do we play with the words of the 
dead that would teach us, and strike them far from us with our 
bitter, reckless will, little thinking that those leaves which the wind 
scatters had been piled, not only upon a grave-stone, but upon the 
seal of an enchanted vault — nay, the gate of a great city of sleeping 
kings, who would awake for us, and walk with us, if we knew but 
how to call them by their names. How often, even if we lift 
the marble entrance-gate, do we but wander among those old kings 
in their repose, and finger the robes they lie in, and stir the crowns 
on their foreheads ; and still they are silent to us, and seem but a 
dusty imagery ; because we know not the incantation of the heart 
that would wake them ; which, if they once heard, they would start 
up to meet us in their power of long ago, narrowly to look upon us, 
and consider us ; and as the fallen kings of Hades meet the newly- 
fallen,, saying, "Art thou also become weak as we — art thou also 
become one of us ? " so would these kings, with their war-dimmed, 
unshaken diadems, meet us, saying, "Art thou also become pure and 
mighty of heart as we ? art thou also become one of us ? " 

Mighty of heart, mighty of mind- — "magnanimous" — to be 
this, is indeed to be great in life ; to become this increasingly, is, 
indeed, to " advance in life," — in life itself — not in the trappings 
of it. — My friends, do you remember that old Scythian custom, 
when the head of a house died ? How he was dressed in his finest 
dress, and set in his chariot, and carried about to his friends' 
houses; and each of them placed him at his table's head, and all 
feasted in his presence ? Suppose it were offered to you, in plain 
words, as it ^9 offered to you in dire facts, that you should gain this 
Scythian honor, gradually while you' yet thought yourself alive. 
Suppose. the offer were this: "You shall die slowly; your blood 
shall daily grow cold, your flesh petrify, your heart beat at last only 
as a rusted group of iron valves. Your life shall fade from you, 
and sink through the earth into the ice of Caina ; but, day by day, 
your body shall be dressed more gayly, and set in higher chariots, 
and have more orders on its breast — crowns on its head, if you 
will. Men shall bow before it, stare and shout round it, crowd 
after it up and down the streets ; build palaces for it, feast with it at 
their tables' heads all the night long ; your soul shall stay enough 
within it to know what they do, and feel the weight of the golden 
dress on its shoulders, and the furrow of the crown-edge on the 
skull ; — no more. Would you take the offer, verbally made by the 
death-angel ? Would the meanest among us take it, think you ? Yet 



44 ELOCUTION". 

practically and verily we grasp at it, every one of us, in a measure ; 
many of us grasp at it in its fulness of horror. Every man accepts 
it, who desires to advance in life without knowing what life is : who 
means only that he is to get more horses and more footmen, and more 
fortune, and more public honor, and — no^ more personal soul. He only 
is advancing in life, whose heart is getting softer, whose blood warm- 
er, whose brain quicker, whose spirit is entering into Living peace. 
And the men who have this life in them are the true lords or kings 
of the earth -^ they, and they only. All other kingships, as far as 
they are true, are only the practical issue and expression of theirs ; 
if less than this, they are either dramatic royalties, — costly shows, 
with real jewels instead of tinsel — the toys of nations ; or else, they 
are no royalties at all, but tyrannies, or the mere active and prac- 
tical issue of national folly ; for which reason I have said of them 
elsewhere, "Visible governments are the toys of some nations, -the 
diseases of others, the harness of some, the burdens of more." 

BEAUTY. Wm. Ellery Clanning. 

Beauty is an all-pervading presence. It unfolds to the number- 
less flowers of the spring. It waves in the branches of the trees 
and the green blades of grass. It haunts the depths of the earth 
and the sea, and gleams out in the hues of the shell and the precious 
stone. And not only these minute objects, but the ocean, the moun- 
tains, the clouds, the heavens, the stars, the rising and setting sun, 
all overflow with beauty. The universe is its temple ; and those 
men who are alive to it, cannot lift their eyes without feeling them- 
selves encompassed with it on every side. Now, this beauty is so 
precious, the enjoyments it gives are so refined and pure, so con- 
genial with our tenderest and noblest feelings, and so akin to wor- 
ship, that it is painful to think of the multitude of men as living in the 
midst of it, and living almost as blind to it as if, instead of this fair 
earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dungeon. And infi- 
nite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of this spiritual 
endowment. Suppose that I were to visit a cottage, and see its walls 
lined with choicest pictures of Raphael, and every spare nook filled 
with statues of the most exquisite workmanship, and that I were to 
learn that neither man, woman, nor child ever cast an eye at these 
miracles of art, — how should I feel their privation; how should I 
want to open their eyes, and to help them to comprehend and feel 
the loveliness and grandeur which in vain courted their notice! 
But every husbandman is living in sight of the works of a diviner 



SELECTIONS. 45 

Artist; and how mucli would Ms existence be elevated could he see 
the glory which shines forth in their forms, hues, proportions, and 
moral expression ! I have spoken only of the beauty of nature, but 
how much of this mysterious charm is found in the elegant arts, 
and especially in literature ? The best books have the most beauty. 
The greatest truths are wronged if not linked with beauty, and 
they win their way most surely and deeply into the soul when arrayed 
in this, their natural and fit attire. Now, no man receives the true 
culture of a man, in whom the sensibility to the beautiful is not 
cherished ; and I know of no condition in life from which it should 
be excluded. 



ESSENTIAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MAN AND WOMAN. 

Robertson. 

On reaching home yesterday evening, I took down Liebig's 
*' Chemistry," and found that the ultimate elements of organic 
bodies are principally four, viz., carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and 
nitrogen. That is, the difference between hair, flesh, bone, and be- 
tween skin, bark, wood, &c., is caused not so much by their being 
composed of different elements as by the different proportions in 
which these four chief ones are mixed up. 

In the visions of the night a dream presented'itself, mingling this 
information Avith the subjects of our conversation, and the question 
whether woman is merely an unemancipated negro, as you say, her 
powers and qualities in all respects like those of men, only unculti- 
vated, or, as I say, a being spiritually as well as physically differ- 
ent, — having, if you will, all the elements, moral and intellectual, 
the same in number that man has, only differing in the proportions 
in which they are mixed up ; that difference, however, constituting 
a difference of nature as real as the difference between leaf and 
flower, wood and fruit. As you say. Woman is to Man what the 
gristle of a child is to the hard skull of an adult ; as / say, what 
the brain is to the skull, or the flesh to the ribs. 

Methought I overheard the muscular fibre, i. e., the flesh, of the 
human body, enviously grumbling against the bones. The flesh 
averred that it was essentially identical with bone, wanting only a 
different position and a harder education. That great muscle in the 
centre of the body, the heart, took upon herself the office of cham- 
pion of the rights of oppressed flesh, and spoke, — " Feeble and de- 
graded muscles ! after six thousand years of abject inferiority, I 
summon you in the sacred name of abstract principles. Are we not 



46 ELOCUTION. 

identically the same as the bones ? What are the bones ? — Carbon, 
oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen. What are we ? — The- saine, minus a 
few pinches of phosphate of lime. The elements of our nature are 
identically those of bone. And yet for these long centuries we have 
been treated as if we were of a softer and feebler nature, — conde- 
scendingly, insultingly protected, from outward injury, as if we 
could not protect ourselves ; looked upon as the ornament and living 
beauty of the bones; treated — I blush with shame to say it— as the 
cushions on which the bones repose, as if we were merely existing 
for their solace and relaxation. Even I, of bonier texture than 
you, poor slaves ! I am bone-locked and hemmed in on every side, 
unable to expand, cabined, cribbed, confined, forbidden from the 
development of my noble nature by the coercion of a horrid, jeal- 
ous rib ! " 

(For it may be remarked that the heart, albeit proud of being 
less soft and less sensitive than other muscles, was yet unable to 
restrain the use of certain spasmodic dashed words, like "horrid," 
which betrayed the existence of more nervous substance and sensi- 
bility than she would willingly have admitted. And the occurrence 
of these, in the midst of slang-like and bonier expressions, produced 
sometimes an odd confusion.) 

Some very tender muscles, situated at the extremity of the fin- 
gers, spoke in reply to the swelling heart thus : — "Wondrous sister ! 
Thy words are full of awe; and we have been thrilled with- the 
mighty conceptions which thou hast suggested to us of being as the 
bones ! But let us take sweet counsel together. Dost not thou sit 
in the centre of the body, determining the quality of every atom of 
carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen, before it passes into the bones? 
Are not we, then, through thee our great mother, arbiters of the 
destiny of those bones, whom thou, with divine indignation, callest 
horrid ? We know that thou art less feebly sensitive than many of . 
us, for we recollect how, in the days of Charles II., thou wast 
handled alive by a surgeon, and didst not flinch any mox-e than if 
thou hadst been bone. But we pray thee to consider what would 
be our fate were we to change our nature. Should we not wear out 
by our friction, instead of elastically rebounding? Does not our 
very shrinking save us. Nay, would not the bones be harder still 
than we, and instead of, as now, loving forbearing pressure, come 
through us, if we did not feel ? Besides, some of us have a secrei 
liking for those bones, feel their support, and cling with great affec- 
tion to our ribs. Thou speakest of great principles which we do 
not understand, — -oxygen and hydrogen. Thou art very wise, and 



SELECTIONS. 47 

we are very foolish, — we only know that flesh is flesh, and bone is 
bone. Thou sayest flesh is bone ; but we cannot help thinking that 
we are as nature made us, and better so. Thou meditatest, mighty 
philosopheress ! on nitrogen and carbon. To us bones are dear. 
We think that all the discipline which thou recommendest would 
make us only firmer and healthier flesh, but flesh still, and that only 
by destruction of our nature could we become bone. We do not 
wish the bones ever to forget that we are flesh, or to treat us as 
bone treats bone. We should as soon expect a gentleman in the 
course of conversation to forget the diff^erence of sex, — to consider 
only mind versus mind, and, smiting the feminine possessor of the 
mind upon the shoulder, to say, ' Come, hold your jaw, old fellow I' 
Most magnanimous heart ! We are very tender, and do not like to 
have it forgotten that we are made of flesh and blood." 

Methought the heart heaved with scorn, and replied: "Ye con- 
crete feeblenesses ! I am then, not as ye are. The abstract princi- 
ples of my nature are identical with those of the tyrants. I will 
alter the proportions ; I will appropriate a little of the lime which 
the heartless bones monopolize. I, too, will be a bone." (" Heart- 
less bones." N. B. — This was the last touching inconsistency of the 
flesh of which the. heart was ever guilty. ) 

She persisted in her resolve. By degrees her eloquent and throb- 
bing utterance became stilled in silence. She got harder and 
harder, and knocked against the ribs, blow for blow, giving knocks 
and receiving them with interest. The last wish she expressed was 
to be made acquainted with Anatomy practically, being certain that 
she should be as callous to the knife as any bone. 

She got her wish ; but it was not until she had become ossified. 

Upon the post-mortem examination, I could not, however, but re- 
mark that, even denaturalized as her discipline had made her, she 
did not look like genuine, healthy bone, but a sort of gristle, nei- 
ther red nor white, neither hard nor soft, but tough — altogether an 
unnatural, morbid, amorphous mass, like unprepared caoutchouc 
when you cut it through, only not so elastic. 

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders, and dropped her into a jar- 
of spirits of wine, to take her place amongst the monstrosities of an 
anatomical museum, observing that she was too hard for a feminine 
pin-cushion, and too soft for a masculine cannon-ball. 

Glenara, Glenara, now read me my dream. 



48 ELOCUTION. 



SELF-DEPENDENCE. 

From " A Woman^s Thoughts about Women." Miss Muloch. 

Piercing to the foundation of all truth — I think we may find the 
truth concerning self-dependence, which is only real and only val- 
uable when its root is not in self at all ; when its strength is drawn 
not from man, but from that Higher and Diviner Source whence 
every individual soul proceeds, and to which alone it is accountable. 
As soon as any woman, old or young, once feels thoi, not as a vague 
sentimental belief, but as a tangible, practical law of life, all 
weakness ends, all doubt departs ; she recognizes the glory, honor, 
and beauty of her existence ; she is no longer afraid of its pains; 
she desires not to shift one atom of its responsibilities to another. 
She is content to take it just as it is, from the hands of the All- 
Father ; her only care being so to fulfil it, that, while the world at 
large may recognize and profit by her self-dependence, she herself, 
knowing that the utmost strength lies in the deepest humility, re- 
cognizes, solely and above all, her dependence upon God. 

Would that, instead of educating our young girls with the notion 
that they are to be wives, or nothing, — matrons, with an acknowl- 
edged position and duties, or with no position and duties at all, — 
we could instil into them the principle that, above and before all, 
they are to be wamen — women, whose character is of their own 
making, and whose lot lies in their own hands. Not through any 
foolish independence of mankind, or adventurous misogamy : let 
people prate as they will, the woman was never born yet who would 
not cheerfully and proudly give herself and her whole destiny into 
a worthy hand, at the right time, and under fitting circumstances^ 
that is, when her whole heart and conscience accompanied and sanc- 
tified the gift. But marriage ought always to be a question not of 
necessity, but choice. Every girl ought to be taught that a hasty, 
loveless union, stamps upon her as foul dishonor, as one of those 
connections which omit the legal ceremony altogether ; and that, 
however pale, dreary, and toilsome a single life may be, unhappy 
married life must be tenfold worse, — an ever-haunting temptation, 
an incurable regret, a torment from which there is no escape but 
death. There is many a bridal-chamber over which ought to be 
placed no other inscription than that well-known one over the gate 
of Dante's hell: 

" Lasciate ogni speranza vol chi entrate." 



SELECTIONS. 49 

God forbid that any woman, in whose heart is any sense of real 
marriage, with all its sanctity, beauty, and glory, should ever be 
driven to enter such an accursed door ! 

A finished life — a life which has made the best of all the mate- 
rials granted to it, and through which, be its web dark or bright, its 
pattern clear or clouded, can now be traced plainly the hand of the 
Great Designer, — surely, this is worth living for ? And though at 
its end it may be somewhat lonely ; though a servant's and not a 
daughter's arm may guide the failing step ; though most likely it 
will be strangers only who come about the dying-bed, close the eyes 
that no husband ever kissed, and draw the shroud kindly over the 
poor withered breast where no child's head has ever lain ; still, such 
a life is not to be pitied, for it is a completed life. It has fulfilled 
its appointed course, and returns to the Giver of all breath, pure as 
He gave it. Nor will He forget it when He counteth up His jewels. 

On earth, too, for as much and as long as the happy dead, to 
whom all things have long been made equal, need remembering, 
such a life will not have been lived in vain : — 

" Only the memory of the just 
Smells sweet, and blossoms in the dust." 

EXTRACT FROM "QUEEN'S GARDENS." Rualcin. 

"Prince of Peace." Note that name. When kings rule in that 
name, and nobles, and the judges of the earth, they also, in their 
narrow place and mortal measure, receive the power of it. There 
are no other rulers than they : other rule than theirs is but mzsrule ; 
they who govern verily "Dei gratia" are all princes, yes, or prin- 
cesses, of peace. There is not a war in the world, no, nor an in- 
justice, but you women are answerable for it ; not in that you have 
provoked, but in that you have not hindered. Men, by their nature, 
are prone to fight ; they will fight for any cause, or for none. II is 
for you to choose their cause for them, and to forbid them when there 
is no cause. There is no suffering, no injustice, no misery in the 
earth, but the guilt of it lies lastly with you. Men can bear the sight 
of it, but you should not he able to bear it. Men may tread it down 
without sympathy in their own struggle ; but men are feeble in sym- 
pathy and contracted in hope : it is you only who can feel the depths 
of pain, and conceive the way of its healing. Instead of trying to 
do this, you turn away from it ; you shut yourselves within your 
park- walls and garden-gates ; and you are content to know that 
there is beyond them a whole world in wilderness — a world of 
5 D 



50 ELOCUTION. 

secrets which you dare not penetrate ; and of suflfering which you 
dare not conceive. 

I tell you that this is to me quite the most amazing among the 
phenomena of humanity. I am surprised at no depths to which, 
when once warped from its honor, that humanity can be degraded. 
I do not wonder at the miser's death, with his hands, as they relax, 
dropping gold. I do not wonder at the sensualist's life, with the 
shroud wrapped about his feet. I do not wonder at the single- 
handed murder of a single victim, done by the assassin in the dark- 
ness of the railway, or reed-shadow of the marsh. I do not even 
wonder at the myriad-handed murder of multitudes, done boastfully 
in the daylight, by the frenzy of nations, and the immeasurable, 
unimaginable guilt, heaped up from hell to heaven, of their priests 
and kings. But this is wonderful to me — oh, how wonderful ! — 
to see the tender and delicate woman among you, with her child at 
her breast, and a power, if she would wield it, over it, and over its 
father, purer than the air of heaven, and stronger than the seas of 
earth — nay, a magnitude of blessing which her husband would not 
part with for all the earth itself, though it were made of one entire 
and perfect chrysolite: — to see her abdicate this majesty to play 
at precedence with her next-door neighbor ! This is wonderful, 
oh, wonderful ! to see her, with every innocent feeling fresh within 
her, go out in the morning into her garden to play with the 
fringes of its guarded flowers, and lift their heads when they are 
drooping, with her happy smile upon her face, and no cloud upon 
her brow, because there is a little wall around her place of peace ; 
and yet she knows, in her heart, if she would only look for its 
knowledge, that outside of that little rose-covered wall, the wild 
grass, to the horizon, is torn up by the agony of men, and beat level 
by the drift of their life-blood. 

Have you ever considered what a deep under-meaning there lies, 
or, at least, may be read, if we choose, in our custom of strewing 
flowers before those whom we think most happy ? Do you suppose 
it is merely to deceive them into the hope that happiness is always 
to fall thus in showers at their feet ? — that, wherever they pass they 
will tread on herbs of sweet scent, and that the rough ground will 
be made smooth for them by depth of roses ? So surely as they 
believe that, they will have, instead, to walk on bitter herbs and 
thorns ; and the only softness to their feet will be of snow. But it 
is not thus intended they should believe ; there is a better meaning 
in that old custom. The path of a good woman is indeed strewn 
with flowers ; but they rise behind her steps, not before them. 



SELECTIONS. 51 

"Her feet have touched the meadows, and left the daisies rosy." 
You think that only a lover's fancy ; — false and vain ! How if it 
be true? You think this also, perhaps, only a poet's fancy — 

"Even the light harebell raised its head, 
Elastic from her airy tread." 

But it is little to say of a woman, that she only does not destroy 
where she passes. She should revive ; the harebells should bloo^i, 
not stoop, as she passes. You think I am going into wild hyper- 
bole ? Pardon me, not a whit, — I mean what I say in calm English, 
spoken in resolute truth. You have heard it said — (and I believe 
there is more than fancy in that saying, but let it pass for a fanciful 
one) — that flowers only flourish rightly in the garden of some one 
who loves them. I know you would like that to be true ; you would 
think it a pleasant magic if you could flush your flowers into 
brighter bloom by a kind look upon them ; nay, more, if your look 
had the power, not only to cheer but to guard them, — if you could 
bid the black blight turn away, and the knotted caterpillar spare, — 
if you could bid the dew fall upon them in the drought, and say to 
the south wind, in the frost, — "Come, thou south, and breathe upon 
my garden, that the spices of it may flow out." This you would 
think a great thing ? And do you think it not a greater thing, that 
all this (and how much more than this !) you can do for fairer flowers 
than these, — flowers that could bless you for having blessed them, 
and will love you for having loved them ; — flowers that have eyes 
like yours ; which, once saved, you can save forever ? Is this only 
a little power ? Far among the moorlands and the rocks, — far in 
the darkness of the horrible streets, — these feeble flowrets are 
lying, with all their fresh leaves torn, and their stems broken ; — will 
you never go down to them, nor set them in order in their little fra- 
grant beds, nor fence them in their shuddering from the fierce wind ? 
Shall morning follow morning, for you, but not for them ; and the 
dawn rise to watch, far away, those frantic Dances of Death ; but 
no dawn rise to breathe upon those living banks of wild violets, 
and woodbine, and rose ; nor call to you, through your casement, — 
call, (not giving you the name of the English poet's lady, but the 
name of Dante's great Matilda, who, on the edge of happy Lethe, 
stood, wreathing flowers with flowers,) saying: — 

" Come into the garden, Maud, 
For the black bat, night, has flown, 
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 
And the musk of the roses blown." 

Will you not go down among them ? — among those sweet living 



52 ELOCUTION. 

things, whose new courage, sprung from the earth with the deep color 
of heaven upon it, is starting up in strength of goodly spire; "and 
whose purity, washed from the dust, is opening bud by bud, into 
the flowers of promise — and still they turn to you, and for you, 
" The Larkspur listens — I hear, I hear ! And the Lily whispers — 
I wait." 

Did you notice that I missed two lines when I read you that 
first stanza ; and think that I had forgotten them ? Hear them 

now: — 

" Come into the garden, Maud, 
For the black bat, night, has flown ; 
Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate, alone." 

Who is it, think you, who stands at the gate of this sweeter gar- 
den, alone, waiting for you ? Lid you ever hear, not of a Maude, but 
a Madeleine, who went down to her garden in the dawn, and found 
One waiting at the gate, whom she supposed to be the gardener ? 
Have you not sought him often ; — sought Him in vain through the 
night ; — sought Him in vain at the gate of that old garden where 
the fiery sword is set ? He is never there ; but at the gate of this 
garden He is waiting always — waiting to take your hand — ready 
to go down to see the fruits of the valley, to see whether the vine 
has flourished, and the pomegranate budded. There you shall see 
with Him the little tendrils of the vines that His hand is guiding, — 
there you shall see the pomegranate springing where His hand cast 
the sanguine seed; — more, you shall see the troops of the angel- 
keepers, that, with their wings, wave away the hungry birds from 
the pathsides where He has sown, and call to each other between 
the vineyard rows. " Take we the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil 
the vines, for our vines have tender grapes." Oh, you queens — 
you queens ! among the hills and happy greenwood of this land of 
yours, shall the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; 
and, in your cities, shall the stones cry out against you, that they 
are the only pillows where -ihe Son of Man can lay His head? 



MODULATION. 53 

MODULATION. 

PITCH, TONES, ETC. 

Pitch is the degree of the elevation of sound. 

The word Tones, in its most comprehensive sense, de- 
notes the v^hole range of perfect sounds, which are pro- 
duced either by man, the inferior animals, or musical in- 
struments ; but, in elocution, 

Tones consist in the various sounds of the voice, in its 
ascent from a low to a high pitch, or in its descent from 
a high to a low one. 

Modulation denotes the variations of the tones in their 
ascending and descending progression from one note to 
another. 

Tones express emotions considered singly ; Modulation is the 
variation of the voice in successive tones. 

The different degrees of pitch in music are denoted by what is 
called the Scale. 

The distance between any two points or places in the scale is 
called an Interval. 

A Note consists in a sound produced at any point or place in the 
scale, considered without reference either to its rise or fall, 

A Tone consists in the rise or fall of the voice from one point in 
the scale to another, except the spaces between the third and fourth, 
and seventh and eighth places, which are occupied by semitones. 

A Semitone consists in the rise or fall of the voice through a 
space in the scale half as great as that taken up by a tone. 

The succession of the seven sounds of any one series, to which 
the octave, or eighth sound, is generally added, is called the Natural 
or Diatonic Scale. It consists of five tones and two semitones, the 
latter being the intervals between its third and fourth, and its 
seventh and eighth degrees. The scale then contains these several 
kinds of intervals, — a semitone, a second or whole tone, a third, a 
fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and an octave. 

1h.Q first, third, &nd fifth notes of the diatonic scale, to which the 
octave, as a kind of according repetition of the first, is usually added, 
6* 



54 ELOCUTION. 

differ from the rest in being more agreeable to the ear when heard 
in combination and immediate succession. 

The voice may move concretely through the different intervals, or 
notes may be made at these degrees by the omission of the con- 
crete. The former of these conditions are called concrete, and the 
latter, discrete intervals ; one being, figuratively, a rising or falling 
stream of voice, and the other a voiceless space. 

The first sound of the scale, relative to its rising series, is called 
the Key note. 

The pitch, on which a syllable or word begins, in comparison 
with the pitch where it terminates, or of other succeeding syllables, 
is called the Radical Pitch, in order to distinguish it from the place 
or pitch at which the voice arrives by its respective concrete or dis- 
crete movements ; this last-named point in the scale being denomi- 
nated relatively, either its Concrete or Discrete Pitch. 

MELODY OF SPEECH. 

Melody is a series of simple sounds, emanating from the voice, 
or an instrument, so varied in pitch as to produce a pleasing effect 
upon the ear. The series of graphic notes by which these sounds 
are represented is also called melody. 

Melody (applied to speech in the same general sense as in the 
technical language of music) is a term used to designate the effect 
produced on the ear, by the successive notes of the voice. 

Ilelody is distinguished from harmony by not necessarily including a 
combination of parts. Harmony, in music, signifies a union of melodies, a 
succession of combined sounds, moTing at consonant interrals, according 
to the laws of modulation. 

, Intonation is the act of sounding the notes of a melody. When 

each note is produced in its proper degree of pitch, the intonation 

is true. 

" One of the most important means of expressive intonation consists in 
the extended time of syllabic utterance" {i. e., long quantity). — Dr. Bush. 

Illustrations of Long Quantity in tlie Expression of 
Didactic TliougM. 

"In a valiant suffering for others, not in a slothful making others 
suffer for us, did nobleness ever lie. The chief of men is he who 
stands in the van of men; fronting the peril which frightens back 
all others; which, if it be not vanquished, will devour the others. 
Every noble crown is, and on Earth forever will be, a crown of 
thorns. ... In modern, as in ancient and all societies, the Aristoc- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — LONG QUANTITY. 55 

racy, they that assume the functions of an Aristocracy, doing them 
or not, have taken the post of honor, which is the post of difficulty^ 
the post of danger — of death," — Carlyle. 

*' The graves of the best of men, of the noblest martyrs, are like 
the graves of the Herrnhuters (the Moravian brethren) — level, and 
undistinguishable from the universal earth; and, if the earth 
could give up her secrets, our whole globe would appear a West- 
minster Abbey laid flat. Ah! what a multitude of tears, what 
myriads of bloody drops have been shed in secrecy about the three 
corner-trees of earth — the tree of life, the tree of knovttledge, and 
the tree of freedom, — shed, but never reckoned ! It is only great 
periods of calamity that reveal to us our great men, as comets are 
revealed by total eclipses of the sun. Not merely upon the field of 
battle, but also upon the consecrated soil of virtue, and upon the 
classic ground of truth, thousand of nameless heroes must fall and 
struggle to build up the footstool from which history surveys the 
one hero, whose name is embalmed, bleeding — conquering — and 
resplendent." — Richter.' 

*' Think not the distant stars are cold; say not the forces of the 
universe are against thee ; believe not that the course of things 
below is a relentless fate ; for thou canst see the stars, thou canst 
use the forces ; in right, thy will is unconquerable, and by it thou 
art the maker and the lord of destiny. In thy living consciousness 
the universe itself has living being, and thou in that art greater 
than the universe. Anoint thine eyes with holy thought, that the 
gross and fleshly scales may fall from ofi" them. Then like Gehazi 
in the mountain, at the prayer of Elijah, thou shalt behold that 
Power for thy good is round about thee ; thou shalt discern that 
thou art embosomed in Protection — that thou art compassed by the 
fiery energies of Heaven, — that thou art girded and guarded by 
the Presence and Majesty of God." — Giles. 

" This spirit shall return to Him 

Who gave its heavenly spark ; 
Yet think not. Sun, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark ! 
No ! it shall live again, and shine 

In bliss unknown to beams of thine, 
By Him recalled to breath, 

Who captive led captivity. 
Who robbed the grave of Victory, — 

And took the sting from Death! 



56 ELOCUTION. 

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up 

On Nature's awful waste 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man shall taste — 
Go, tell the night that hides thy face, 

Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, 
On Earth's sepulchral clod, 

The darkening universe defy 
To quench his Immortality, 

Or shake his trust in God ! " 
• The Last Man. — Cami>heU. 

"Our thoughts are boundless, though our frames are frail. 
Our souls immortal, though our limbs decay ; 

Though darkened in this poor life by a veil 
Of suffering, dying matter, we shall play 
In truth's eternal sunbeams ; on the way 

To heaven's high capitol our cars shall roll; 
The temple of the Power whom all obey, 

This is the mark we tend to, for the soul 

Can take no lower flight, and seek no meaner goal." 

Prometheus. — Percival. 

" Build thee more stately mansions, my soul, 
As the swift seasons roll ! 
Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. 

Till thou at length art free, 
Leaving thy outgrown shell by life's unresting sea I " 

The Chambered Nautilus. — Holmes. 

*' All grows sweet in Thee, 
Since Thou didst gather us in One, and bring 

This fading flower of our humanity 
To perfect blossoming. 

All comes to bloom ! this wild 
Green outward world of ours, that still must wear 
The furrow on its brow, by print of care 
And toil struck deep ; this world by Sin made sad, — 

Hath felt Thy foot upon its sod, and smiled, — 
The desert place is glad ! " 

The Reconciler. = — Miss Greenwell. 



MELODY OF SPEECH. 57 

"Live and love, - 
Doing both nobly, because lowlily ; 
Live and work, strongly — because patiently! 
And for the deed of death, trust it to God, 
That it be well done, unrepented of. 
And not to loss. And thence with constant prayers 
Fasten your souls so high, that constantly 
The smile of your heroic cheer may float 
Above all floods of earthly agonies. 
Purification being the joy of pain ! " 

The Drama op Exile. — Mrs. Browning. 

"We cannot say the morning sun fulfils 
Ingloriously its course ; nor, that the clear 

, Strong stars, without significance, insphere 
Our habitation. We meantime, our ills 
Heap up against this good ; and lift a cry 
Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast, 
As if ourselves were better certainly 
That what we come to. Maker and High-Priest, 
I ask Thee not my joys to multiply, — 
Only to make me worthier of the least." 

Adequacy. — Ibid. 

MELODY OF SPEECH, Continued. 

Diatonic Melody is the progression of pitch through the 
interval of a whole tone. 

Semitonicor Chromatic Melody is the progression of pitch 
through the interval of a semitone. 

Words may be considered under three aspects : as representa- 
tives of simple thought ; as indicative of an enforcing of thought ; 
and as expressive of passion. The progress of the voice in speak- 
ing is called Melody. For plain narrative or simple thought we 
use the Diatonic Melody ; in giving utterance to complaint, pity, 
tender supplication, &c., the Chromatic Melody. 

Illustrations of the Use of Diatonic Melody. 

"In that great social organ, which collectively, we call literature, 
there may be distinguished two separate offices that may blend and 
often do so, but capable severally of a severe insulation, and natu- 
rally fitted for reciprocal repulsion. There is, first, the literature 



58 ELOCUTION. 

of knowledge, and secondly, the literature of power. The function 
of the first is, to teach; the function of the second is, to move: the 
first is a rudder, the second an oar or a sail. The first speaks to 
the mere discursive understanding ; the second speaks ultimately, 
it may happen, to the higher understanding or reason, but always 
through affections of pleasure and sympathy. Remotely, it may 
travel towards an object seated in what Lord Bacon calls dry light; 
but proximately it does and must operate, else it ceases to be a 
literature of power, on and through that humid light which clothes 
itself in the mists and glittering iris of human passions, desires, 
and genial emotions. Men have so little reflected on the higher 
functions of literature, as to find it a paradox if one should describe 
it as a mean or subordinate purpose of books to give information. 
But this is a paradox only in the sense which makes it honorable to 
be paradoxical. Whenever we talk in ordinary language of seek- 
ing information or gaining knowledge, we understand the words as 
connected with something of absolute novelty. But it is the gran- 
deur of all truth that can occupy a very high place in human 
interests, that it is never absolutely novel to the meanest of minds ; 
it exists eternally by way of germ or latent principle in the lowest 
as in the highest, needing to be developed but never to be planted. 
To be capable of transplantation is the immediate criterion of a 
truth that ranges on a lower scale." — De Quincey. 

"Poetry is essentially truthfulness ; and the very incoherences of 
poetic dreaming are but the struggle and the strife to reach the 
True in the Unknown." — Mrs. Browning. 

"Poetry has been as serious a thing to me as life itself; and life 
has been a very serious thing : there has been no playing at skittles 
for me in either. I never mistook pleasure for the final cause of 
poetry ; nor leisure for the hour of the poet. I have done my work, 
so far, as work ; not as mere hand and head work apart from the 
personal being, but as the completest expression of that being to 
which I could attain, — and as work, I offer it to the public ; feel- 
ing its faultiness more deeply than any of my readers, because 
measured from the height of my aspiration, — but feeling also that 
the reverence and sincerity with which the work was done, should 
protect it in the thoughts of the reverent and sincere." — Ibid. 

<' Man can never come up to his ideal standard ; it is the nature of 
the immortal spirit to raise that standard higher and higher, as it 
goes from strength to strength, still upward and onward. Accord- 
ingly, the wisest and greatest men are ever the most modest," — 
Margaret Fuller Ossoli. 



ILLUSTEATIONS. — DIATONIC MELODY. 59 

"Genius cannot be forever on the wing ; it craves a home, a holy 
land ; it carries reliquaries in its hosom ; it craves cordial draughts 
from the goblets of other pilgrims. It is always pious, always 
chivalric, — the artist, like the Preux, throws down his shield to 
embrace the antagonist who has been able to pierce it ; and the 
greater the genius, the more do we glow with delight at his power 
of feeling, need of feeling reverence, not only for the creative soul, 
but for its manifestation through his fellow-man." — Ibid. 

"All high poetry is infinite ; it is as the first acorn which contained 
all oaks potentially. Veil after veil may be withdrawn, and the 
inmost beauty of the meaning never exposed. A great poem is a 
fountain forever overflowing with the waters of wisdom and delight, 
and after one person, or one age, has exhausted all its divine efflu- 
ence, which their peculiar relations enable them to shaf e, another 
and yet another succeeds, and new relations are ever developed, 
the source of an unforeseen and an unconceived delight." — Shelley. 

" The best men, doing their best, 
Know peradventure least of what they do : 
Men usefullest i' the world, are simply used ; 
The nail that holds the wood, must pierce it first. 
And He alone who wields the hammer, sees 
The work advanced by the earliest blow. Take heart." 

Mrs. Browning. 

"Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend. 
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend : 
Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire 
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire ; 
Bless'd that abode where want and pain repair, 
And every stranger finds a ready chair ; 
Bless'd be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd. 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail. 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale. 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 
And learn the luxury of doing good." — Goldsmith. 

" — There was one through whom I loved her, one 
Not learned, save in gracious household ways, 
Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, 
No angel, but a dearer being, all dipt 
In angel instincts, breathing Paradise, 



60 ELOCUTION. 

Interpreter between the gods and men, 

Who looked all native to her place, and yet 

On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere 

Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce 

Swayed to her from their orbits as they moved 

And girdled her with music. Happy he 

With such a mother ! faith in womankind 

Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high 

Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall, 

He shall not blind his soul with clay." — Tennyson. 

SEMITONIC MELODY. 

The semitone expresses complaint, pity, love, grief, 
plaintive supplication, and other sentiments allied to 
these 

"When the semitone is used with quantity and tremor, the force of the 
expression is greatly increased. The tremulous semitonic movement may 
be used on a single word, the more emphatically to mark its plaintiveness 
of character, or it may be used in continuation through a whole sentence, 
when the speaker, in the ardor of distressful and tender supplication, would 
give utterance to the intensity of his feelings." — Toioer. 

Whining is the misplaced use of the semitone, which is the lan- 
guage of tenderness, petition, complaint, &c., but i\pver of manly 
confidence, nor the authoritative self-reliance of truth. 

The Semitone generally affects a slow time and lon^ quantity. The 
interjective exclamations of pain, grief, love, and compassion are 
prolongations of the tonic elements on this interval. But its effect 
is distinctly perceptible on the short time of immutable syllables. 

Examples. 

" Here 's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will 
not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh ! oh! " — Lady Macbeth. 

" mighty Caesar ! Dost thou lie so low ! 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils. 
Shrunk to this little measure? — Fare thee well." — 

Antony over Csesar^s Body. 
** I might have saved her ; now she 's gone forever ! — 
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha ! 
What is 't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft. 
Gentle, and low: an excellent thing in woman." 

Lear over the Body of Cordelia. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — SEMITONIC MELODY. 61 

** Behold her there, 
As I beheld her ere she knew my heart, 
My first, last love ; the idol of my youth, 
The darling of my manhood, and, alas ! 
Now the most blessed memory of mine age." 
The Gardener's Daughter; or, The Pictures. — Tennyson. 

"Don't think, in my grief, I'm complaining; 

I gave him, God took him ; 'tis right; 
And the cry of his mother remaining 

Shall strengthen his comrades in fight. 
Not for vengeance, to-day, in my weeping, 

Goes my prayer to the Infinite Throne, 
God pity the foe when he 's reaping 

The harvest of what he has sown ! 

"Tell his comrades these words of his mother: 
All over the wide land to-day. 
The Kachels, who weep with each other, 

Together in agony pray. 
They know, in their great tribulation, 

By the blood of their children outpoured, 
We shall smite down the foes of the Nation, 
In the terrible day of the Lord." 

The Color-Sergeant. — A. D. F. Randolph. 

*' Poor Chatterton ! he sorrows for thy fate 
Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late. 
Poor Chatterton ! farewell ! of darkest hues 

This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb ; 
But dare no longer on the sad theme muse, 

Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom ; 
For oh ! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing. 
Have blackened the fair promise of my spring ; 
And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart 
The last pale Hope that shivered at my heart," 

Monody on the Death of Chatterton. — Coleridge. 

"And, friends ! — dear friends ! — when it shall be 
That this low breath is gone from me. 
And round my bier ye come to weep, — • 
Let one, most loving of you all, 
Say, ' Not a tear must o'er her fall — 
He giveth His beloved, sleep ! ' " 

The Sleep. — Mrs. Browning. 
6 



62 ELOCUTION-. 

"The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
And quench his fiery indignation, 
Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me, 
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would have believed no tongue, but Hubert's." 

Arthur, in King John. 

"Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes ; 0, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
And would not harm me." — Ibid. 

"Come, Anthony, and young Octavius, come. 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world: 
Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd. 
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. 0, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
And here, my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar : for, I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius." 

Cassius, in Julius C-ssar. 

MONOTONE. 

. According to Dr. Rush, when two or more syllables occur suc- 
cessively on the same place of radical pitch, the phrase may be 
called '■'■ih.Q phrase of the Monotone." 



MONOTONE. 63 

When the radical pitch of a syllable is a tone above that of a pre- 
ceding syllable, the phrase may be termed the ^' Rising Bitone" ; — 
if below the preceding syllable, the ^^ Falling Ditone^ 

When the radicals of three syllables successirely ascend a tone, 
the phrase is called the ^^ Rising Triione" ; when they successively 
descend a tone, the " Falling Tritone.^' 

The Monotone may be defined as that inflexible move- 
ment of the voice which is heard when fear, vastness of 
thought, force, majesty, power, or intensity of feeling is 
such as partially to obstruct the powers of utterance. 

" This movement of the voice may be accounted for by the fact, that, 
when the excitement is so powerful, and the kind and degree of feeling are 
such as to agitate the whole frame, the vocal organs will be so affected, 
and their natural functions so controlled, that they can give utterance to 
the thought or sentiment in only one note, iterated on the same unvarying 
line of pitch, 

" Grandeur of thought and sublimity of feeling are always expressed by 
this movement. The effect produced by it is deep and impressive. When 
its use is known, and the rule for its application is clearly understood, the 
reading will be characterized by a solemnity of manner, a grandeur of re- 
finement, and a beauty of execution, which all will acknowledge to be in 
exact accordance with the dictates of Nature, and strictly within the pale 
of her laws." — Tower. 

ninstrations of the Monotone. 

"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe- wards had sunk : 
'T is not through envy of thy happy lot, 
But being too happy in thy happiness, — 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
Singest of summer in full-throated ease." 

Ode to a Nightingale. — Keats. 

"The lady sprang up suddenly, 
The lo-^ly lady, Christabel ! 
It moaned as near, as near can be, 
But what it is she cannot tell. — 
On the other side it seems to be. 
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak-tree. 

"The night is chill ; the forest bare ; 
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ? 



64 ELOCUTION". 

There is not wind enough in air 

To move away "the ringlet curl 

From the lovely lady's cheek ; 

There is not wind enough to twirl 

The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 

That dances as often as dance it can, 

Hanging so light, and hanging so high. 

On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. 

"Hush, beaftng heart of Christabel ! 
Jesu, Maria, shield her well ! 
She folded her arms beneath her cloak, 
And stole to the other side of the oak : 

"What sees she there ? " — Chuistabel. — Coleridge. 

"0, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights. 
That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; 
So full of dismal terror was the time." 

Clarence, in Richard III. 

'* Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 

As the leaves that were crisped and sere — 
As the leaves that were withering and sere, 

And I cried, — ' It was surely October, 
On this very night of last year. 
That I journeyed — I journeyed down here — 
That I brought a dread burden down here, — 
On this night of all nights in the year. 
Ah, what demon has tempted me here ? 

"Well I know now this dim lake of Auber — 
This misty mid region of Weir, — 

"Well I know now this dark tarn of Auber, 
This ghoul-haunted woodland of "Weir.' " 

Ulalume. — Edgar A. Foe. 

*'I am not come 
To stay : to bid farewell, farewell forever, 
For this I come ! 'T is over ! I must leave thee ! 
Thekla, I must — must leave thee ! Yet thy hatred 
Let me not take with me. I pray thee, grant me 
One look of sympathy, only one look. 



T0:N^ES. — MONOTONE. 65 

Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me, Thekla ! 
God! I cannot leave this spot — I cannot! 
Cannot let go this hand. tell me, Thekla ! 
That thou dost suffer with me, art convinced 
That I cannot act otherwise." 
Max to Thekla. — The Death of Wallenstein. — Schiller. 

" Grief should be 
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate, 
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free, 
Strong to consume small troubles, to commend 
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end." 

Sorrow. — Aubrey De Vere. 

"1 am old and blind! 
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown : 
Afflicted and deserted of my kind, 
Yet am I not cast down. 

I am weak, yet strong : 
I murmur not, that I no longer see ; 
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong 

Father, Supreme ! to Thee. 

0, merciful One ! 
When men are farthest, then art Thou most near ; 
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, 

Thy chariot I hear. 

Thy glorious face 
Is leaning toward me, and its holy light 
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling place — 
And there is no more night." 
Milton on his Blindness. — Mrs. E. L. Howell. 

" Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears : 
The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears: 
The blank earth yawns : the mortal disappears ; 
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ; 
He is gone who seem'd so great, — 
Gone ; but nothing can bereave him 
Of the force he made his own 
Being here, and we believe him 
Something far advanced in State, 
And that he wears a truer crown 
Than any wreath that man can weave Mm. 
6* E 



Q6 ELOCUTION. 

But speak no more of Ms renown, 
Lay your earthly fancies down, 
And in the vast cathedral leave him ; 
God accept him, Christ receive him." 

Ode on the Death of the Duke op Wellington. 

Tennyson. 

SELECTIONS. 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF DIATONIC MELODY. 

CHAUCER. Mrs. Browning. 

But it is in Chaucer we touch the true height, and look abroad 
into the kingdoms and glories of our poetical literature, — it is with 
Chaucer that we begin our " Books of the Poets," our collections and 
selections, our pride of place and name. And the genius of the 
poet shares the character of his position : he was made for an early 
poet, and the metaphors of dawn and spring doubly become him. 
A morning star, a lark's exaltation, cannot usher in a glory better. 
The "cheerful morning face," "the breezy call of incense breath- 
ing morn," you recognize in his countenance and voice ; it is a voice 
full of promise and prophecy. He is the good omen of our poetry, 
the "good-bird," according to the Romans, "the best good angel 
of the spring," the nightingale, according to his own creed of good 
luck, heard before the cuckoo. 

Up rose the sunne, and up rose Emilie, 
and up rose her poet, the first of a line of kings, conscious of futurity 
in his smile. He is a king and inherits the earth, and expands his 
great soul smilingly to embrace his great heritage. Nothing is too 
high for him to touch with a thought, nothing too low to dower 
with an affection. As a complete creature cognate of life and 
death, he cries upon God, — as a sympathetic creature he singles 
out a daisy from the universe (" si douce est la marguerite"), to lie 
down by half a summer's day and bless it for fellowship. His senses 
are open and delicate, like a young child's — his sensibilities capa- 
cious of supersensual relations, like an experienced thinker's. 
Child-like, too, his tears and smiles lie at the edge of his eyes, and 
he is one proof more among the many, that the deepest pathos and 
the quickest gayeties hide together in the same nature. He is too 
wakeful and curious to lose the stirring of a leaf, yet not two wide 
awake to see visions of green and white ladies between the branches ; 
and a fair house of fame and a noble court of love are built and hid- 
den in the winking of his eyelash. And because his imagination is 



SELECTIONS. — DIATONIC MELODY. 67 

neither too " high fantastical" to refuse proudly the gravitation of 
the earth, nor too " light of love " to lose it carelessly, he can create 
as well as dream, and work with clay as well as cloud ; and when 
his men and women stand close by the actual ones, your stop-watch 
shall reckon no difference in the beating of their hearts. He knew 
the secret of nature and art, — that truth is beauty, — and saying, 
<' I will make * A Wife of Bath ' as well as Emilie, and you shall 
remember her as long," we do remember her as long. And he sent 
us a train of pilgrims, each with a distinct individuality apart from 
the pilgrimage, all the way from Southwark and the Tabard Inn, to 
Canterbury and Becket's shrine ; and their laughter comes never to 
an end, and their talk goes on with the stars, and all the railroads 
which may intersect the spoilt earth forever, cannot hush the 
*' tramp, tramp" of their horses' feet. 

THREE DESCRIPTIONS. 
Not long ago I was slowly descending the carriage-road after you 
leave Albano. It had been wild weather when I left Rome, and all 
across the Campagna the clouds were sweeping in sulphurous blue, 
with a clap of thunder or two, and breaking gleams of sun along the 
Claudian aqueduct, lighting tip its arches like the bridge of chaos. 
But as I climbed the long siope of the Alban mount, the storm 
swept finally to the north, and the noble outline of the domes of 
Albano and the graceful darkness of its ilex grove rose against 
pure streaks of alternate blue and amber, the upper sky gradually 
flushing through the last fragments of a rain-cloud in deep palpi- 
tating azure, half ether and half dew. The noon-day sun came 
slanting down the rocky slopes of La Riccia, and its masses of en- 
tangled and tall foliage, whose autumnal tints were mixed with the 
wet verdure of a thousand evergreens, were penetrated with it as 
with rain. I cannot call it color, it was conflagration. Purple, 
and crimson and scarlet, like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the 
rejoicing trees sank into the valley in showers of light, every sep- 
arate leaf quivering with buoyant and burning life ; each, as it 
turned to reflect or to transmit the sunbeam, first a torch and then 
an emerald. Far up into the recesses of the valley, the green 
vistas, arched like the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline 
sea, with the arbutus flowers, dashed along their flanks for foam, 
and silver flakes of orange spray tossed into the air around them, 
breaking over the gray walls of rock into a thousand separate stars^ 
fading and kindling alternately as the weak wind lifted and let 
them fall. Every blade of 'grass burned like the golden floor of 



68 ELOCUTION-. 

heaven, opening in sudden gleams as the foliage broke and closed 
above it, as sheet lightning opens in a cloud at sunset the motion- 
less masses of dark rock — dark, though flushed tvith scarlet lichen, 
casting their quiet shadows across its restless radiance, the foun- 
tain underneath them filling its marble hollow with blue mist and 
fitful sound, and, over all, — the multitudinous bars of amber and 
rose, the sacred clouds that have no darkness, and only exist to 
illuminate, were seen in intervals between the solemn and orbed 
repose of the stone pines, passing to lose themselves in the last, 
white, blinding lustre of the measureless line where the Campagna 
melted into the blaze of the sea. — Ruskin. 

I wish I could describe one scene which is passing before my 
memory at this moment, when I found myself alone in a solitary 
valley of the Alps, without a guide, and a thunder-storm coming on. 
I wish I could explain how every circumstance combined to pro- 
duce the same feeling and ministered to unity of impression, — the 
slow, wild wreathing of the vapors round the peaks, concealing 
their summits, and imparting in semblance their own motion, till 
each dark mountain form seemed to be mysterious and alive ; the 
eagle-like plunge of the lammer-geier, the bearded vulture of the 
Alps ; the rising of a flock of choughs, which I had surprised at 
their feast on carrion, with their red beaks and legs, and their wild 
shrill cries startling the solitude and silence, — till the blue light- 
ning streamed at last, and the shattering thunder crashed as if the 
mountains must give way ; and then came the feelings which, in 
their fulness, man can feel but once in life ; mingled sensations of 
awe and triumph and defiance of danger, — pride, rapture, con- 
tempt of pain, humbleness, and intense repose, — as if all the strife 
and struggle of the elements were only uttering the unrest of man's 
bosom, so that in all such scenes there is a feeling of relief, and he 
is tempted to cry out exultingly, " There! there ! all this was in my 
heart, and it never was said out till now." — Robertson. 

The gray church and grayer tombs, look divine with this 
crimson gleam on them. Nature is now at her evening prayers ; 
she is kneeling before those red hills. I see her prostrate on the 
great steps of h«r altar, praying for a fair night for mariners at 
sea, for . travellers in deserts, for lambs in moors, and unfledged 
birds in woods I saw — now I see — a woman- 
Titan : her robe of blue air spread to the outskirts of the heath, 
where yonder flock is grazing : a veil, white as an avalanche, 
sweeps from her head to her feet, and arabesques of lightning 
flame on its border. 



SELECTIONS. — DIATONIC MELODY. 69 

Under iter breast I see her zone, purple like that horizon ; through 
its blush shines the star of evening. Her steady eyes I cannot 
picture — they are clear, they are as deep as lakes, they are lifted 
and full of worship, they tremble with the softness of love and the 
lustre of prayer. Her forehead has the expanse of a cloud, and is 
paler than the early moon, risen long before dark gathers, — she 
reclines her bosom on the ridge of Stilbro' Moor, her mighty hands 
are joined beneath it. So kneeling, face to face, she speaks with 
God. — Charlotte Bronte. 

INDIVIDUALITY. Emerson. 

There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the 
conviction that envy is ignorance ; that imitation is suicide ; that 
he must take himself for better or for worse, as his portion ; that, 
though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing 
corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of 
ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in 
him is new in nature, and none but he knows wrhat that is which 
he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing 
one face, one character, one fact, makes such impression on him, 
and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without 
preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray 
should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but 
half express ourselves and are ashamed of that divine idea which 
each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate 
and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not 
have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and 
gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best ; but 
what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is 
a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt, his genius 
deserts him ; no muse befriends ; no invention, no hope. 

Trust thyself ; every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept 
the ^ace the divine Providence has found for you, the society of 
your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have 
always done so, and confided themselves child-like to the genius of 
their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trust- 
worthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, 
predominating in all their being. 

WOMAN'S EDUCATION. Rushin. 

"A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet." 

The perfect loveliness of a woman's countenance can only consist 
in that majestic peace, which is founded in the memory of happy 



70 ELOCUTION. 

and useful years, — full of sweet records ; and from the joining of 
this with that yet more majestic childishness, which is still full of 
change and promise ; — opening always — modest at once, and bright, 
with hope of better things to be won, and to be bestowed. There 
is no old age where there is still that promise — it is eternal youth. 

Thus, then, you have first to mould her physical frame, and 
then, as the strength she gains will permit you, to fill and temper 
her mind with all knowledge and thoughts which tend to confirm its 
natural instincts of justice, and refine its natural tact of love. 

All such knowledge should be given her as may enable her to 
understand, and even to aid the work of men ; and yet it should be 
given, not as knowledge, — not as if it were, or could be, for her an 
object to know ; but only to feel, and to judge. It is of no moment, 
as a matter of pride or perfectness in herself, whether she knows 
many languages or one ; but it is of the utmost, that she should be 
able to show kindness to a stranger, and to understand the sweet- 
ness of a stranger's tongue. It is of no moment to her own worth 
or dignity that she should be acquainted with this science or that ; 
but it is of the highest that she should be trained in habits of 
acurate thought ; that she should understand the meaning, the 
inevitableness, and the loveliness of natural laws, and follow at least 
Bome one path of scientific attainment, as far as to the threshold of 
that bitter Valley of Humiliation, into which only the wisest and 
bravest of men can descend, owning themselves forever children, 
gathering pebbles on a boundless shore. It is of little consequence 
how many positions of cities she knows, or how many dates of 
events, or how many names of celebrated persons — it is not the 
object of education to turn a woman into a dictionary ; but it is 
deeply necessary that she should be taught to enter with her whole 
personality into the history she reads ; to picture the passages of it 
vitally in her own bright imagination; to apprehend with her 
fine instincts, the pathetic circumstances and dramatic relations, 
which the historian too often only eclipses by tis reasoning, and 
disconnects by his arrangement ; it is for her to trace the hidden 
equities of divine reward, and catch sight, through the darkness, 
of the fateful threads of woven fire that connect error with its 
retribution. But, chiefly of all, she is to be taught to extend the 
limits of her sympathy with respect to that history which is being 
forever determined, as the moments pass in which she draws her 
peaceful breath ; and to the temporary calamity which, were it but 
rightly mourned by her, would recur no more hereafter. She is to 
exercise herself in imagining what would be the effects upon her 



SELECTIONS. — SEMITONIC MELODY. 71 

mind and conduct, if she were daily brought into the presence of 
the suffering which is not the less real because shut from her sight. 
She is to be taught somewhat to understand the nothingness of the 
proportion which that little world in which she lives and loves, 
bears to the world in which God lives and loves ; — and solemnly she 
is to be taught to strive that her thoughts of piety may not be 
feeble in proportion to the number they embrace, nor her prayer 
more languid than it is for the momentary relief from pain of her 
husband or her child, when it is uttered for the multitudes of those 
who have none to love them, — and is "for all who are desolate 
and oppressed." 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF SEMITONIC MELODY. 
DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. 

From "The Old Curiosity Shop." — Dichens. 

By little and little, the old man had drawn back towards the inner 
chamber, while these words were spoken. He pointed there, as he 
replied, with trembling lips, — 

"You plot among you to wean my heart from her. You will 
never do that — never while I have life. I have no relative or 
friend but her — I never had — I never will have. She is all in all 
to me. It is too late to part us now." 

Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to her as he 
went, he stole into the room. They who were left behind drew 
close together, and after a few whispered words, — not unbroken 
by emotion, or easily uttered, — followed him. They moved so 
gently, that their footsteps made no noise, but there were S^obs from 
among the group, and sounds of grief and mourning. 

For she was dead. There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest 
The solemn stillness was no marvel now. 

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace 
of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from 
the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life ; not one who 
had lived and suffered death. 

Her couch was dressed with, here and there, some winter berries 
and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. 
"When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and 
had the sky above it always." These were her words. 

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her 
little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have^ 
crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage ; and the strong heart of 
its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever. 



72 ELOCUTION. 

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and 
fatigues ? All gone. His was the true death before their weeping 
eyes. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect hap- 
piness were born ; imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound 
repose. 

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. 
Yes. The old fireside had smiled on that same sweet face ; it had 
passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care ; at the 
door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the 
furnace fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still, dying boy, there 
had been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the angels 
in their majesty, after death. 

The old man held one languid arm in his, and kept the small hand 
tight folded to his breast, for warmth. It was the hand she had 
stretched out to him with her last smile — the hand that had led 
him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he passed it 
to his lips ; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it 
was warmer now ; and as he said it, he looked, in agony, to those 
who stood around, as if imj^loring them to help her. 

She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms 
she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was ebbing fast 
— the garden she had tended — the eyes she had gladdened — the 
noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour — the paths she had 
trodden as if it were put yesterday — could know her no more. 

<' It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent do^n to kiss her 
on her cheek, and gave his tears free vent — " it is not in this world 
that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is compared with the 
world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and 
say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed 
could call her back to life, which of us would utter it ! " 

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Hood. 

*' Drowned! drowned!" 

One more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Kashly importunate, 
Gone to her death ! - 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair! 



SELECTIONS. — SBMITONIC MELODY. 73 

Look at lier garments 
Clinging like cerements ; 
Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing. — 

Touch her not scornfully ; 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and humanly ; 
Not of the stains of her, 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and un dutiful ; 
P-ast all dishonor, 
Death has- left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, 
One of Eve's family, — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers, 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses, 
Where was her home ? 

Who was her father? 

Who was her mother ? 

Had she a sister? 

Had she a brother ? 

Or was there a dearer one 

Still, and a nearer one 

Yet, than all other? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full. 
Home she had none. 



74 ELOCUTION. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 
Feelings had changed : 
Love, by harsh evidence, 
Thrown from its eminence; 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 

So far in the river. 

With many a light. 

From window and casement, 

From garret to basement, 

She stood, with amazement, " 

Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver 
But not the dark arch. 
Or the black flowing river: 
Mad from life's history, 
Glad to death's mystery, 
Swift to be hurled — 
Anywhere, anywhere 
Out of the world ! 

In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it. 
Picture it — think of it, 
Dissolute man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, i' you can ! 

Take her up tenderly. 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair! 



Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, — kindly, — 
Smooth, and compose them 



SELECTIONS. — SEMITONIC MELODY. 76 

And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly! 

Dreadfully staring 

Through muddy impurity, 

As when with the daring • 

Last look of despairing 

Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurred by contumely. 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest. — 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly. 
Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness, 
Her evil behavior, 
■ And leaving with meekness. 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 

WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY AETER HIS DOWNFALL. 

From " Henry Eighth.''* 

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
• This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms. 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root. 
And then he falls as I do, I have ventured. 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
I feel my heart new open'd : 0, how wretched 
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to — 



76 ELOCUTION. 

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. — 

WOLSEY'S ADDRESS TO CROMWELL. Ibid 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 

In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me 

Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 

Let 's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 

And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be. 

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 

Of me more must be heard of, — say I taught thee ; 

Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory. 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, — 

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 

Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to Avin by 't ? 

Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; 

Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's. 

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st, a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 

And, Pr'ythee, lead me in : 

There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny ; 'tis the king's ; my robe. 

And my integrity to heaven, is all 

I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell, 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my king, he would not in mine age 

Have left me naked to mine enemies. 



SELECTION'S. — MONOTONE. 77 



ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE MONOTONE. 

INVOCATION TO LIGHT. 

Opening of the Third Booh of "Paradise Lost." 
Hail, holy Light ! offspring of heaven first-born, 
Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam. 
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee. 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 
Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal stream. 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
Of Grod, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep, 
Won from the void and formless infinite. 
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing. 
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detain'd 
In that obscure sojourn ; while in my flight, 
Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
With other, notes than to the Orphean lyre, 
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night ; 
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to reascend, ■ 
Though hard and rare ; thee I revisit safe. 
And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, 
Or dim diffusion veil'd. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow. 
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
Those other two equall'd with me in fate. 
So were I equall'd with them in renown. 
Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides, 
And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old : 
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 

7^ 



78 ELOCUTION. 

Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, 
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
Seasons return ; but not t.o me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of eyen or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose. 
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
. Cut ofi", and for the book of knowledge fair. 
Presented with a universal blank 
Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased, 
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 
So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence 
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight 

ARTEVELDE'S FAEEWELL TO THE CITIZENS OF GHENT. 

Henry Taylor, 
Then fare ye well, ye citizens of Ghent! 
This is the last time you will see me here, 
Unless God prosper me past human hope. 
I thank you for the dutiful demeanor 
Which never — no not once — in any of you 
Have I found wanting, though severely tried 
When discipline might seem without reward. 
Fortune has not been kind to me, good friends ; 
But let not that deprive me of your loves. 
Or of your good report. Be this the word ; 
My rule was brief, calamitous — but just. 
No glory which a prosperous fortune gilds, 
If shorn of this addition, could suffice 
To lift my heart so high as it is now. 
This is that joy in which my soul is strong, 
That there is not a man amongst you all 
Who can reproach me that I used my power 
To do him an injustice. If there be 
It is not to my knowledge ; yet I pray him, 
That he will now forgive me, taking note 
That I had not to deal with easy times. 



SELECTIONS. — MON"OTONE. 79 

DARKNESS. Byron. 

1 had a dream, wMcli "was not all a dream. 

The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 

Bid wander, darkling, in the eternal space, 

Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth 

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air ; 

Morn came, and went, — and came, and brought no day, 

And men forgot their passions, in the dread 

Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light. 

And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones, 

The palaces of crowned kings, the huts. 

The habitations of all things which dwell. 

Were burned for beacons : cities were consumed, 

And men were gathered round their blazing homes, 

To look once more into each other's face: 

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 

Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch : 

A fearful hope was all the world contained: 

Forests were set on' fire ; but, hour by hour, 

They fell and faded ; and the crackling trunks 

Extinguished with a crash — and all was black. 

The 'brows of men, by the despairing light, 

Wore an unearthly aspect, as, by fits. 

The flashes fell upon them. Some lay down 

And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 

Their chins upon their clinched hands, and smiled; 

And others hurried to and fro, and fed 

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up, 

With mad disquietude, on the dull sky. 

The pall of a past world ; and then again 

With curses, cast them down upon the dust. 

And gnash'd their teeth, and howl'd. The wild birds shriek'd 

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 

And flap their useless wings : the wildest brutes 

Came tame, and tremulous ; and vipers crawl' d 

And twined themselves among the multitude. 

Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food : 

And War, which for a moment was no more. 

Did glut himself again : — a meal was bought 

With bloodj and each sat sullenly apart, 



80 ELOCUTION. 

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; 

All earth was but one thought — and that was death, 

Immediate and inglorious ; and the pang 

Of famine fed upon all entrails. Men 

Died ; and their bones were tombless as their flesh : 

The meagre by the meagre were devoured. 

Even dogs assail'd their masters,— all save one, 

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 

The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, 

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 

Lured their lank jaws: himself sought out no food, 

But, with a piteous, and perpetual moan, 

And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand 

That answered not with a caress — he died. 

The crowd was famished by degrees. But two 

Of an enormous city did survive, 

And they were enemies. They met beside 

The dying embers of an altar-place, 

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things 

For an unholy usage. They raked up. 

And shivering, scraped, with their cold, skeleton hands, 

The feeble ashes ; and their feeble breath 

Blew for a little life, and made a flame 

"Which was a mockery. Then they lifted up 

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 

Each other's aspects — saw, and shriek'd, and died ; 

Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void : 

The populous and the powerful was a lump, 

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless ; 

A lump of death, — a chaos of hard clay. 

The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still. 

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths. 

Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, 

And their masts fell down piecemeal : as they dropp'd. 

They slept on the abyss, without a surge, - 

The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ; 

The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 

The winds were wither' d in the stagnant air, 

And the clouds perish'd ; darkness had no need 

Of aid from them — she was the universe. 



ILLUSTRATION'S. — DEGREES OF PITCH. 81 



PITCH, Continued. 

The various degrees of pitch may Tbe thus represented: — 

Very high > d — a — delightful, joyous, glorious. 

High 9 ^ d — ^ — bright, pleasant, cheerful. 

Middle gd ^ ^ — £i — faith, peace, temperance, charity. 

Low ^ A 4 — a — melancholy, suffering, sadness. 

Very low . d — a — awe, desolation, woe, horror.' 

" That, in the formation of language, men have been much influenced by 
a regard to the nature of things and actions meant to be represented, is a 
fact of which every known speech gives proof. In our own language, for 
instance, who does not perceive in the sound of the words thunder, bound- 
less, terrible, a something appropriate to the sublime ideas intended to be 
conveyed? In the word crash we hear the very action implied. Imp, elf , — ■ 
how descriptive of the miniature beings to which we apply them ! Fairy, — 
how light o.nd tripping, just like the fairy herself! — the word, no more than 
the thing, seems fit to bend the grass-blade, or shake the tear from the 
blue-eyed flower.'-' — Robert Chalmers. 

Examples. 
Very High Pitch. 

"There 's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
There 's a titter of winds in that beechen tree. 
There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the flower, 

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea !" — Bryant. 

"Ring joyous chords ! — ring out again ! 
A swifter still and a wilder strain ! 
And bring fresh wreaths! — we will banish all 
Save the. free in heart from our festive hall. 
On through the maze of the fleet dance, on ! ^^ —-Mrs. Hemans. 

"On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet." — Byron. 

High Pitch. 

"A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
^ Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell." — Byron. 
F 



82 ELOCUTION. 

" I come ! I come ! ye have called me long, 
I come o'er the mountains with light and song ! 
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, 
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth. 
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 
By the green leaves opening as I pass. 

*' From th.e streams and founts I have loosed the chain, 
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 
They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs. 
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves ; 
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves." 

Mrs. Hemans. 

Middle Pitcli. 

"Thought is deeper than all speech; 
Feeling deeper than all thought; 
Souls to souls can never teach 

What unto themselves is taught." — C. P. Cranch. 

"Be wise; not easily forgiven 
Are those, who, setting wide the doors that bar 
The secret bridal chambers of the heart. 
Let in the day." — Tennyson. 

"All the past of Time reveals 
A bridal-dawn of thunder-peals. 
Whenever Thought hath wedded Fact." — iZ>io?. 

Low Pitcli. 

"Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, 
And the winter winds are wearily sighing : 
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow. 
And tread softly and speak low, 
For the old year lies a-dying." — Tennyson. 

"Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
^ 'T was sad as sad could be ; 

And we did speak only to break 

The silence of the sea." — Coleridge. 

"His heavy-shotted hammock shroud 
Drops in his vast and wandering grave." — Tennyson. 



ILLUSTEATIOJSrS. — DEGREES OF PITCH. 83 

** Slowly and sadly we laid Mm down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory : 
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone — 
But we left him alone with his glory," — Wolfe. 

''Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, 
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire." 

Tennyson. 

Very Low Pitcli. 

" News fitting to the night. 
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible." — Shakespeare. 

''Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! " — Campbell. 

"He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan — 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncofiined, and unknown." — Byron. 

"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still ! " 

Byron. 
"And there lay the rider, distorted and pale. 
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners, alone, 
The lances, unlifted, the trumpet, unblown." — Ihid. 

"The majority of persons in this country pitch their voices too high, not 
only when they read and speak in public, but also in their colloquial inter- 
course. We not unfrequently meet with those who always speak in the 
highest key of the natural voice, and we occasionally meet with some who 
even speak in the falsetto. A high pitch in speech is unpleasant to the 
cultivated ear; it is totally inadequate to the correct expression of senti- 
ments of respect, veneration, dignity, or sublimity." — Comstock. 

" Few faults in speaking, however, have a worse effect than the grave 
and hollow note of the voice, into which the studious and sedentary are 
peculiarly apt to fall in public address. A deep and sepulchral solemnity 
is thus imparted to all subjects, and to all occasions, alike. The free and 
natural use of the voice is lost : and formality and dullness become insep- 
arably associated with public address on serious subjects; or the tones of 
bombast and affectation take the place of those which should flow from 
earnestness and elevation of mind." — Russell. 

The various kinds and degrees of emotion require different notes 
of the voice for their appropriate expression. Deep feeling pro- 
duces low tones ; joyful and elevated feeling inclines to a high strain ; 
and pity, though widely differing in force, is also expressed by the 
higher notes of the scale. Moderate emotion inclines to a middle 
pitch. 



84 elocutions' 



ILLUSTRATIONS OF DEGREES OF PITCH. 

Higli Pitcli. 

"Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer, by this sun of York ; 
And all the clouds that lowr'd upon our house, 
In the deep hosom of the ocean bury'd. 
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
Our stern aHirums chang'd to merry meetings, 
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
Grim visaged war has smoothed his wrinkled front ; 
And now — instead of mounting barbed steeds, 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — . 
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute." 

Gloster, in Richard the Second. 

"Down, down, down, 

Down to the depths of the sea, 
She sits at her wheel in the humming town. 
Singing most joyfully. 
Hark, what she sings, ' joy, joy, 
For the humming street, and the child with its toy, 
For the priest and the bell, and the holy well. 
For the Avheel where I spun, 
And the blessed light of the sun.' 
And so she sings her fill. 
Singing most joyfully. 
Till the shuttle falls from her hand. 
And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand ; 
And over the sand at the sea; 
And her eyes are set in a stare ; 
And anon there breaks a sigh. 
And anon there drops a tear. 
From a sorrow-clouded eye, 
And a heart sorrow-laden, 
A long, long sigh, 
For the cold str.inge eyes of a little Mermaiden, 
And the gleam of her golden hair." 

The Forsaken Merman, — Arnold. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — HIGH PITCH. 85 

'But if ye saw that wliich no eyes can see, 
The inward beauty of her lively sp'rit, 
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree, 
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, 
And stand astonished like to those which read 
Medusa's mazeful head. 

There dwells sweet Love, and constant Chastity, 
Unspotted Faith, and comely Womanhood, 
Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty ; 
There Virtue reigns as queen in royal throne 
And giveth laws alone, 
The which the base affections do obey. 
And yield their services unto her will; 
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may 
Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill. 
Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures. 
And unrevealed pleasures. 
Then would ye wonder and her praises sing, 
That all the woods would answer, and your echo ring." 

The Epithalamium. — Spenser, 

'• Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea, 

Alexandra ! 
Saxon and Norman and Dane are we. 
But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, 

Alexandra ! 
Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet ! 
Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street! 
Welcome her, all things useful and sweet. 
Scatter the blossom under her feet ! 
Break, happy land, into earlier flowers! 
Make music, bird, in th« new budded bowers! 
Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer I 
Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours ! 
Warble, bugle, and trumpet, blare ! 
Flags, flutter out upon turrets ana towers ! 
Flames, on the windy headland flare! 
Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire ! 
Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air! 
Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire! 
Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher 
Melt into the stars for the land's desire! 
8 



86 ELOCUTION. 

Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice. 
Roll as a ground-swell dashed on the strand, 
Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land, 
And welcome her, welcome the land's desire, 
The sea-kings' daughter, as happy as fair, 
Blissful bride of a blissful heir, 
Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea — 
joy to the people, and joy to the throne, 
Come to us, love us, and make us your own : 
For Saxon or Dane or Norman we, 
Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be, 
We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee, 

Alexandra! " 
A Welcome to Alexandra. — Tennyaoru. 



Medium Pitcli. 

"Be sure, no earnest work 
Of any honest creature, howbeit weak. 
Imperfect, ill-adapted, fails so much, 
It is not gathered as a grain of sand 
To enlarge the sum of human action used 
For carrying out God's end. No creature works 
So ill, observe, that therefore he 's cashiered. 
The honest earnest man must stand and work ; 
The- woman also; otherwise she drops 
At once below the dignity of man, 
Accepting serfdom. Free men freely work : 
Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease. 
. . . Let us be content, in work. 
To do the thing we can, and not presume 
To fret because it's little," — Aurora Leigh. 

" Though we fail indeed, 
You . . I . . a score of such weak workers, . . He 
Fails never. If He cannot work by us. 
He will work over us. Does he want a man. 
Much less a woman, think you ? Every time 
The star winks there, so many souls are born. 
Who all shall work too. Let our own be calm: 
We should be ashamed to sit beneath those stars, 
Impatient that we're nothing " — Ibid. 



ILLUSTEATIONS. — MEDIUM PITCH. 87 

"Fail — yet rejoice; because no less 
The failure which makes thy distress 
May teach another full success. 

**It may be that in some great need 
Thy life's poor fragments are d.ecreed 
To help build up a lofty deed." 

Light and Shade. — 3Iiss Procter. 

. . . " The highest fame was never reached except 
By what was aimed above it. Art for art, 
And good for God Himself, the essential Good ! 
We '11 keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect, 
Although our woman-hands should shake and fail ; 
And if we fail. ... But must we ? — 

Shall I fail? 
The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 
* Let no one be called happy till his death.' 
To which I add, — Let no one till his death 
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work 
Until the day's out and the labour done ; 
Then bring your gauges. If the day's work's scant, 
• Why, call it scant; affect no compromise; 
And, in that we have nobly striven at least, 
Deal with us nobly, women though we be, 
And honour us with truth, if not with praise." 

3Irs. Browning. 

"Work, true work, done honestly and manfully for Christ, never 
can be failure. . . . True Christian life is like the march of a 
conquering army into a fortress which has been breached. Men 
fall by hundreds in the ditch. Was their fall a failure ? Nay, for 
their bodies bridge over the hollow, and over them the rest pass on 
to victory. . . These are the two remedies for doubt — Activity and 
Prayer. He who works and feels he works — he who prays and 
knows he prays — has got the secret of transforming life-failure into 
life-victory." — Robertson. 

"He [P. W. Robertson] lies in a hollow of the Downs he loved so 
well. The sound of the sea may be heard there in the distance; 
and, standing by his grave, it seems a fair and fitting requiem ; for 
if its inquietude was the image of his outward life, its central calm 
is the image of his deep peace of activity in God. He sleeps well; 



88 ELOCUTION. 

and we, who are left alone with our love and his great result of 
work, cannot but rejoice that he has entered on his Father's rest." — ■ 
Stopford A. Brooke. 

*"0 dull, one-sided voice,' said I, 
'Wilt thou make everything a lie 
To flatter me that I may die? 

"I know that age to age succeeds. 
Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, 
A dust of systems and of creeds. 

*'I cannot hide that some have striven, 
.Achieving calm, to whom was given 
The joy that mixes man with Heaven: 

"Who, rowing hard against the stream. 
Saw distant gates of Eden gleam. 
And did not dream it was a dream; 

"But heard, by secret transport led, 
Even in the charnels of the dead, 
The murmur of the fountain-head — 

"Which did accomplish their desire. 
Bore and forebore, and did not tire, 
Like Stephen, an unquenched fire. 

"He heeded not reviling tones, 
Nor sold his heart to idle moans. 
Though cursed and scorned, and bruised with stones : 

"But looking upward, full of grace. 
He prayed, and from a happy place 
God's glory smote him on the face.' " 

The Two Voices. — Tennyson, 

Low Pitch. 

**If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly : If the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequences, and catch, 
.With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We 'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases. 
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — LOW PITCH. 89 

Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
To plague the inventor : This even handed justice 
Commends the ingredient of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips. He 's here in double trust: 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject. 
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
Who should against the murder bar the door, 
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues will 
Plead like angels, trumpet-tongued against 
The deep damnation of his taking off; 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
Vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself, 
And falls on the other." — Macbeth. 

"All he had loved and moulded into thought, 
From shape, and hue, and odor, and sweet sound, 
Lamented Adonais. Morning sought 
Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound. 
Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, 
Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day ; 
Afar the melancholy thunder moaned ; 
Pale ocean in unquiet slumber lay,. 

And the wild winds flew around, sobbing in their dismay.' 

Adonais. — Shelley. 

*' The breath whose might I have invoked in song 
Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven 
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng 
Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; 
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! 
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar ; 
Whilst burning through the inmost vail of heaven, 
The soul of Adonais, like a star. 
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are." — Ibid. 

" The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; 
8* 



90 ELOCUTION-. 

An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress." 

Childe Harold. — Byrork 

' ' One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made 

Its haunts, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, 
Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade 
Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. 

"Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here 
Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear, 
And armies mustered at the sign, as when 
Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East, — 
Gray captains leading bands of veteran men 
And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast. 
Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave 
The victory to her who fills this grave ; 
Alone her task was wrought. 
Alone the battle fought ; 
Through that long strife her constant hope was staid 
On God alone, nor looked for other aid. 

*' She met the hosts of sorrow with a look 

That altered not beneath the frown they wore. 
And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took, 

Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more. 
Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath. 
And calmly broke in twain 
The. fiery shafts of pain, 
And rent the nets of passion from her path. 
By that victorious hand despair was slain. 
With love she vanquished hate and overcame 
Evil with good, in her Great Master's name." 

The Conqueror's Grave, — Bryant. 

" He did but float a little way 
Ad.own the stream of time. 
With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — LOW PITCH. 91 

Or listening their fairy chime ; 

His slender sail 

Ne'er felt the gale ; 

He did but float a little way, 

And putting to the shore 

While yet 't was early day, 

Went calmly on his way, 

To dwell with us no more! 

No jarring did he feel, 

No grating on his vessel's keel ; 

A strip of silver sand 

Mingled the waters with the land 

Where he was seen no more ; 

stern word — Nevermore ! 

" Full short his journey was ; no dust 
Of earth unto his sandals clave ; 
The weary weight that old men must. 
He bore not to the grave. 
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way 
And wandered hither, so his stay 
With us was short, and 't was most meet 
That he should be no delver in earth's clod, 
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet 
To stand before his God : 
blest word — Evermore I " 

Threnodia. — Lowell. 

"Tenderness 
And woe are twins ! and may not deeply bless 
Except together, when the tear one weeps 
Falls in the golden cup the other keeps 
Hid for this moment in his breast, unshown 
Till needed most," — After Parting. — 3Iiss Greenwell. 

"The melancholy days are come. 

The saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds and naked woods, 

And meadows brown and sear ; 
Heaped in the hollow of the grave, 

The Autumn leaves lie dead ; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, 

And to the rabbit's tread. 



92 ELOCUTION. 

The robin and the wren are flown, 

And from the shrubs the jay, 
And from the woodtop calls the crow 

Through all the gloomy day." 

The Death of the Flowers. — Bryant. 

"November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; 

The shortning winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae thq pleugh ; 

The blackening trains o' craws to their repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end. 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend." 
The Cotter's Saturday Night. — Burns. 



MODULATION, Continued. 

QUALITIES OF TONE. 

The different kinds or qualities of tone are the Pure 
Tone, the Orotund, the Aspirated, the Falsetto, the Guttural, 
and the Trembling. 

The Pure Tone is the ordinary tone of a good and well- 
trained voice, clear, even, smooth, round, flowing, flexible 
in sound, and producing a moderate resonance in the head. 
It is the tone to be employed in all ordinary reading, 
where great passion or violent feeling is not expressed. 

Illustrations. 

" No education deserves the name, unless it develops thought, — 
unless it pierces down to the mysterious spiritual principle of mind, 
and starts that into activity and growth. There, all education, 
intellectual, moral, religious, begins ; for morality, religion, intelli- 
gence, have all one foundation in vital thought;^ — that is, in 
thought which conceives all objects with which it deals, whether 
temporal or eternal, visible or invisible, as living realities, not as 
barren propositions. Here is the vital principle of all growth in 
learning, in virtue, in intelligence, in holiness. If this fail, there 
is no hope ; 



TONES. — PUKE QUALITY. 93 

'The pillared firmament is rottenness 
And earth's base built on stubble,' 

Thus, force of being, to labor, to create, to pluck out the heart 
of nature's mystery, — this is the law of Genius." — E. P. Whipple. 

"There are many — who say, Grod is near or far off, that his 
wisdom or his goodness appear quite specially in one age or 
another, — truly this is idle deception; is he not the unchangeable, 
eternal Love, and does he not love us and bless us at one hour just 
as much as at another ? As we ought, properly, to call the eclipse 
of the sun, an eclipse of the earth, so it is man who is obscured, 
never the Infinite ; but we are like the people who look at the 
obscuration of the sun in the water, and then, when the water 
trembles, cry out, ' See how the glorious sun struggles ! ' " — Richter. 

"There is a fine engraving of Jean Paul Richter, surrounded by 
floating clouds, all of which are angels' faces; but so soft and 
shadowy, that they must be sought for, to be perceived. It was a 
beautiful idea thus to environ Jean Paul, for whosoever reads him 
with earnest thoughtfulness will see heavenly features perpetually 

shining forth through the golden mists of rolling vapor 

E-emember — This picture embodies a great spiritual truth. In all 
clouds that surround the soul, there are angel faces, and we should 
see them if we were calm and holy. It is because we are impatient 
of our destiny, and do not understand its use in our eternal pro- 
gression, that the clouds which envelop it seem like black masses 
of thunder, or cold and dismal obstructions of the sunshine. If 
man looked at his being as a whole, or had faith that all things 
were intended to bring him into harmony with the divine will, he 
would gratefully acknowledge that spiritual dew and rain, wind and 
lightning, cloud and sunshine, all help his growth, as their natural 
forms bring to maturity the flowers and grain. ' Whosoever quar- 
rels with his fate, does not understand it,' says Bettine ; and 
among all her inspired sayings, she spoke none wiser." — 3Irs. L. 
M. Child. 

" The simplest faith, be it only deep and trustful, the very 
smallest idea of a mission in life assigned by God, — be it only 
lovingly and clearly seen, — 'lifteth the poor out of the dust,' and 
'to them that have no might increaseth strength.' As of old it 
banished disease, and couched the blind, and soothed the maniac, 
by miracles of power, so does it still heal and bless by its miracles 
of love. It puts a divine fire into the dullest soul, and draws in 



94 ELOCUTION. 

Saul also among the prophets ; it turns the peasant into the 
apostle, and the apostle's meanest follower into the martyr." — 
James 3Iartineau. 

"A little consideration of what takes place around us every day 
would show us, that a higher law than that of our wills regulates 
events ; that our painful labors are unnecessary and fruitless ; that 
only in our simple, easy, spontaneous action are we strong, and by 
contenting ourselves with obedience we become divine. Belief and 
love, — a believing love will relieve us of a vast load of care. 
my brothers, God exists. There is a soul at the centre of nature, 
and over the will of every man, so that none of us can wrong the 
universe. It has so infused its strong enchantment into nature, 
that we prosper when we accept its advice, and when we struggle to 
wound its creatures, our hands are glued to our sides, or they 
beat our own breasts. The whole course of things goes to teach us 
faith. We need only obey. There is guidance for each of us and 
by lowly listening we shall hear the right word." — Emerson. 



OROTUND QTJALITY. 

The Orotund is the pure tone deepened, and intensified 
for the expression of the more earnest and vehement pas- 
sages of feeling, or the profound emotions of the. soul. 

It produces a greater resonance in the head and chest, requires 
depression in the larynx, opening of the throat, extension of the 
mouth, and expansion of the whole chest. 

Exercises upon this tone are admirably adapted to strengthen the 
vocal organs, and give life and spirit to the student of oratory; 
being also important, in a physical point of view, by strengthening 
and expanding the lungs. 

It is the only kind of voice appropriate to the master style of epic 
and dramatic reading, the full body of the tone giving satisfactory 
expression to sentiments associated with dignity and grandeur. 

Orotund quality admits of three degrees,, called, accord- 
ing to the intensity of emotion, effusive, expulsive, and 
explosive orotund, (corresponding to effusive, expulsive, 
and explosive breathing.) In other cases it is combined 
with aspiration, being rendered impure by violence of 
emotion and force of breath. 



TONES. — OEOTUND QUALITY. 95 

Effusive orotund is heard in the utterance of sentiments 
of solemnity and pathos, when mingled with grandeur and 
sublimity. It is also the appropriate tone of reverence and 
adoration. 

Examples. 

'J Being faithful 
To thine own self, thou art faithful too to me : 
If our fates part, our hearts remain united. 
A bloody hatred will divide forever 
The houses of Piccolomini and Friedland; 
But we belong not to our houses — Go! 
Quick ! quick ! and separate thy righteous cause 
From our unholy and unblessed one ! " 

Thekla to Max. The Death of Wallenstein. — Schiller. 

** Ah wasteful woman! she who may 
On her Sweet self set her own price 
Knowing he cannot choose but pay — 
How has she cheapened Paradise ! 
How given for nought her priceless gift, 
How spoiled the bread and spill'd the wine, 
Which, spent with due, respective thrift, 
Had made brutes men, and men divine ! " 

Coventry Fatmore. 

'*Eise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise, 
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thine eyes ! 
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn; ' • 

See future sons and daughters, yet unborn, 
In crowding ranks on every side arise, 
Demanding life, impatient for the skies ! 
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, 
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend ; 
See thy bright altars throng' d with prostrate kings, 
And heap'd with products of Sabean springs! 
For thee Idume's spicy forests bl-ow. 
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. 
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, 
And break upon thee in a flood of day ! 
No more the rising Sun shall gild the morn, 
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn ; 



96 ELOCUTION. 

But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, 
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze 
O'erflow thy courts: the Light. himself shall shine 
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine ! 
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 
Eocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
But fix'd his word, his saving power remains ; 
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns ! " 

The Messiah. — Pope. 

**0 heart of mine, keep patience! — Looking forth 

As from the Mount of Vision, I behold, 
Pure, just, and free, the Church of Christ on earth, — 

The martyr's dream, the golden age foretold! 
And found at last, the mystic Graal I see 

Brimmed with His blessing, pass from lip to lip 

In sacred pledge of human fellowship ; 

And over all the songs of angels hear, — 

Songs of the love that casteth out all fear, — 

Songs of the Gospel of Humanity ; 

Lo ! in the midst, with the same look He wore 

Healing and blessing on Gennesaret's shore, 

Folding together, with the all-tender might 
Of His great love, the dark hands and the white. 

Stands the Consoler, soothing every pain. 
Making all burdens light, and breaking every chain." 

Lines on a Prayer-Book. — Wliittier^ 

"0 earth, so full of dreary noises! 
men, with wailing in your voices ! 
delved gold, the waller's heap! 
strife, curse, that o'er it fall! 
God makes a silence through you all, 
And giveth His beloved; sleep ! " 

The Sleep. — 3Irs. Browning, 

"Oh! change — oh! wondrous change — 

Burst are the prison-bars — 
This moment — there, so low, 
So agonized — and now — 

Beyond the stars ! 

«*0h! change — stupendous change! 
There lies the soulless clod : 



TONES. — OKOTUND QUALITY. 97 

The Sun eternal breaks — 

Tlie new Immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God ! " 

The Pauper's Death-Bed. — 3Irs. Southey. 

Expulsive Orotund. 
Expulsive orotund appropriately belongs to earnest and 
vehement declamation, to impassioned emotion — and there- 
fore to any language uttered in the form of shouting. 

Examples. 

«' Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand 
and my heart to this vote ! It is true, indeed, that, in the beginning, 
we aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity which shapes 
our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, 
blinded to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately per- 
sisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to 
reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the 
Declaration ? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconcilia- 
tion with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and 
its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honor? Are not 
you. Sir, who sit in that chair, — is not he, our venerable colleague 
near you, — are not both already proscribed and predestined objects 
of punishment and of vengeance ? Cut off from all hope of royal 
clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of Eng- 
land remains, but outlaws? " — Supposed Speech of John Adams. — 
Webster. 

" The war >s actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the 
North will bring to our ear the sound of clashing arms ! Our breth- 
ren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle ? What is it 
that Gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or 
peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and sla- 
very ? Forbid it. Almighty God ! I know not what course others 
may take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! " — 
Patrick Henry. 

"Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! 
I hold to you the hands you first beheld. 
To show they are still free. Methinks I hear 
A spirit in your echoes answer me, 
And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
Again! — sacred forms, how proud you look! 
9 G 



98 ELOCUTION. 

How high you lift your heads into the sky! 

How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! 

Ye are the things that tower, that shine, — whose smile 

Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, 

Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, 

I'm with you once again ! — I call to you 

With all my voice! — I hold my hands to you, 

To show they are still free. I rush to you 

As though I could embrace you ! " 

William Tell. — Sheridan Knowles. 

"I scorn you that ye wail. 
Who use your petty griefs for pedestals 
To stand on, beckoning pity from without. 
And deal in pathos of antitheses 
Of what ye were forsooth, and what ye are ; — 
I scorn you like an angel ! Yet, one cry, 
I, too, would drive up, like a column erect. 
Marble to marble, from my heart to heaven, 
A monument of anguish, to transpierce 
And overtop your vapory complaints 
Expressed from feeble woes ! 

"For, ye heavens, ye are my witnesseB, 
That I, struck out from nature in a blot. 
The outcast, and the mildew of things good, 
. The leper of angels, the excepted dust 
Under the common rain of daily gifts, — 
I the snake, I the tempter, I the cursed, — 
To whom the highest and the lowest alike 
Say, Go from us — we have no need of thee, — 
Was made by God like others. Good and fair, 
He did create me ! — ask Him, if not fair ; 
Ask, if I caught not fair and silverly . 
His blessing for chief angels, on my head, 
Until it grew there, a crown crystallized ! 
Ask, if He never called me by my name, 
Lucifer — ]|:indly said as 'Gabriel' — 
iwa/ef — rsoft as ' Michael! ' While serene 
I, standing in the glory of the lamps. 
Answered 'my father,' innocent of shame 
And of the sense of thunder. Ha ! ye think, 



TONES. — OKOTUND QUALITY. 99 

White angels in your niches, — I repent, — 
And would tread down my own offences, hack 
To service at the footstool ! That 's read wrong : 
I cry as the beast did, that I may cry — 
Expansive, not appealing ! Fallen so deep 
Against the sides of this prodigious pit, 
I cry — cry — dashing out the hands of wail, 
On each side, to meet anguish everywhere, 
And to attest it in the ecstasy 
And exultation of a woe sustained 
Because provoked and chosen." 

Lucifer's Curse, in Drama op Exile. — Mrs. Browning. 



Explosive Orotund. 

Explosive orotund is the language of intense passion : 
it is heard when the violence of emotion is beyond the 
control of the will, evidencing a sudden ecstasy of terror, 
anger, or any other form of overpowering excitement. 
Being heard only in the extremes, of abrupt emotion, it 
admits of no gradations. 

Examples. 

"Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! " 

Childe Harold. — Byron. 

" Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! — 
Kun hence ! "proclaim, cry it about the streets ! " 

Cinna, in Julius C^sar. 

** Some to the common pulpits ! and cry out 

Liberty, freedom,and enfranchisement!" — Cassius. — Ibid. 

" Up ! comrades up ! — in Rokeby's halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls ! " — Rokery. — Scott. 

"Now Spirits of the Brave, who roam 
Enfranchised through yon starry dome, 
Kejoice — for souls of kindred fire 
Are on the wing to join your choir! " 

The Gheber's Bloody Glen. — 



100 ELOCUTION. 

" I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud, 

that these hands could so redeem my son, 
As they have given these hairs their liberty / " 

Constance, in King John. 

"I am not .mad — I would to heaven I were! 
For then 'tis like I should forget myself; 
0, if I could, what grief should I forget! " — Ibid. 

"Alas, what need you be so "boisterous-rough? 

1 will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 

For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ; 

Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away. 

And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. 

Nor look upon the iron aqgerly : 

Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 

Whatever torment you do put me to." 

Arthur, in King John. 

"An hour passed on — the Turk awoke; 
That bright dream was his last; 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 
'To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! ' 
He woke — to die 'midst flame, and smoke. 
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, 
And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
Strike — till the last armed foe expires; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 
God, and your native land ! " 

Marco Bozzaris. — Fitz Greene Halleck. 



TONES. — ASPIEATION. 101 



ASPISATIOF. 

Aspiration is used in tlie absence of vocal sound ; it is 
an expulsion of the breath, more or less strong, the words 
being spoken in a whisper. It may be applied to syllables 
of every variety of time, to all modes of stress, and to all 
intervals of intonation. Its use is to unite with the other 
functions of the voice, to give increased intensity to the 
utterance of the various emotions. It gives an air of mys- 
tery ; it expresses excessive earnestness, contempt, scorn, 
rage, wonder, incomprehensibility. In connection with 
the semitone, it gives intensity to the plaintiveness of dis- 
tress ; and when the tremulous movement is superadded to 
the aspirated semitone, it will mark the deepest shade of 
sadness and grief within the limits of crying. 

Examples. 

"The red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near ; ' 
And the white rose weeps, ' She is late ; ' 
The larkspur listens, ' I hear, I hear ; ' 
And the lily whispers, ' I wait.' " 

Garden Song, in Maud. — Tennyson. 

"Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! 

"And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
9* 



102 ELOCUTION. 

And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While throng' d the citizen with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips, — ' The foe ! They come ! they 
come! ' " Childe Harold. — Byron. 

<* Oh ! horror ! horror ! horror ! — Tongue nor heart, 
Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! . . . 

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece ! 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life of the building. . . . 

Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight 
With a new Gorgon ! " — Macduff, in Macbeth. 

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us! 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable. 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape 
That I will speak to thee ; I '11 call thee, Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane : 0, answer me : 
Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell. 
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws. 
To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
Making night hideous : and we fools of nature. 
So horribly to shake our disposition, 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? " 

Hamlet to Ghost. 



GUTTURAL QUALITY. 

The Guttural is a deep under-tone used to express hatred^ 
contempt, and concentrated malignity or loathing. 



TONES. — GUTTUEAL QUALITY. 103 

Examples. 

"War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. 

Lymoges ! Austria ! thou dost shame 

That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward : 

Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 

Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 

But when her humorous ladyship is by 

To teach thee safety ! " — Constance, in King John. 

" I '11 have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak : 

1 '11 have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
I '11 not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool, 

To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 

To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 

I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond." 

Shylock, in The Merchant of Venice. 

** Gone to be married ! Gone to swear a peace ! 
False blood to false blood joined ! Gone to be friends ! 
Shall Lewis have Blanche ? and Blanche these provinces ? 
It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard ; 
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so." 

Constance, in King John. 

" How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him, for he is a Christian ; 
But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usuance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On. me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest : Curst be my tribe. 
If I forgive him! " — Shylock, in Merchant of Venice. 

"Be then his love accursed, since love or hate, 
To me alike, it deals eternal woe; 
Nay, cursed be thou, since against his thy will 
Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 



104 ELOOUTIOI>r. 

Me miserable ! which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath and infinite despair ? 
Which way I fly is Hell ; myself am Hell ; 
And in the lowest deep a lower deep, 
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide, 
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven." 

Satan, in Paradise Lost. 

*< < Traitor ! ' I go — but I return. This — trial ! 
Here I devote your senate ! I 've had wrongs, 
To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
This day 's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour's work 
Will breed proscriptions : — Look to your hearths, my lords ! 
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for Jiousehold^ods, 
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ! 
Wan Treachery, Avith his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, 
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
Till Anarchy come down on you like Night 
And Massacre seal Rome's eternal grave ! " 

Catiline to the Se?iaie. — Crolt. 



THE FALSETTO. 

The Falsetto is that peculiar tone, heard in the higher 
degrees of pitch, after the natural voice breaks, or apparently 
outruns its power. It is used in the emphatic scream of 
terror or pain; in the expression of extreme surprise, 
mockery f &c. 

Examples. 

'< He said he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him when he lies asleep. 
And in his ear I '11 holla — ' Mortimer ! ' 
Nay, I '11 have' a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but < Mortimer,' and give it him. 
To keep his anger still in motion." 

Hotspur, in Henky Fottrth. 



TONES.— THE FALSETTO. 105 

" Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my money and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug : 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears you need my help : 
Go to then : you come to me, and you say, 
Shylock, we would have monies ; You say so -^ 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
Hath a dog money 2 is it possible, 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
With bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 
Say this, — 

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last : 
You spurn'd me such a day : another time 
You called me dog : and for these courtesies 
I'll lend you thus much monies." 

Shylock, in Merchant of Venice. 

•' upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — learned judge ! " 

Gratiano, in Ibid. 
<* A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word." — Ibid. 

*' 'Ah ! ' she said, ' the eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! ' 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
' Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! ' " — Longfellow. 



106 ELOCUTION. 



TREMOE. 

The Tremor or Trembling Tone consists of a tremulous 
iteration, or a number of impulses of sound of the least 
assignable duration. It is used in excessive grief, pity, 
plaintiveness ; in ^n intense degree of suppressed excite- 
ment, or satisfaction ; and when the voice is enfeebled by 
age. 

"The Tremor is made subservient to all kinds of passion,- for there is 
scarce a passion, whether of joy, grief, or exultation, — there is scarce even 
a sentiment, whether of tenderness or supplication, contempt, indignant 
scorn, or any other connatural state of feeling. — to which this function of 
the voice does not at times add a much higher degree of impressivenesa 
than could be effected solely by the concrete movement." — Tower. 

Examples. 

"Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
Little breezes dusk and shiver 
Thro' the wave that runs forever 
By the island in the river 

Flowing down to Camelot. 
Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
Overlook a space of flowers. 
And the silent isle embowers 

The Lady of Shalott." — Tennyson. 

"Weep, my ^schylus. 
But low and far, upon Sicilian shores ! 
For since 't was Athens (so I read the myth) 
Who gave commission to that fatal weight, 
The tortoise, cold and hard, to drop on thee 
And crush thee, — better cover thy bald head ; 
She '11 hear the forest hum of Hyblan bee 
Before thy loud'st protesting." 

AuROBA Leigh, ^ — Mrs. Browning. 

"St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! 
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; 
The hair limped trembling through the frozen grass. 
And silent was the flock in woolly fold : 
Numb were the Beadsmans' fingers, while he told 



ILLUSTKATIONS. — TKEMOR. 107 

His rosary, and while his frosted breath, 
Like pious incense from a censer old, 
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, 
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayers he saith." 
The Eve of St. Agnes. — Keats. 

"Ye Mists and Exhalations that now rise 
From hill or streaming lake, dusty or grey, 
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 
In honour to the world's great Author rise, 
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky, 
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs, 
Kising or falling still advance his praise. 
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, 
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye Pines, 
With every plant ; in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains, and ye that warble, as you flow, 
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. 
Join voices all ye living Souls; ye Birds, 
That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend. 
Bear on your wings and in your note his praise. 
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 
Witness if I be silent, morn or e'en. 
To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, 
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
Hail Universal Lord, be bounteous still 
To give us only good ; and if the night 
Have gather' d aught of evil, or conceal'd. 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark." 

Paradise Lost. 
" Life ! we 've been long together. 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather : 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; 
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ; 
Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time, 
Say not Good Night, but in some brighter clime 
Bid me Good morning." 

Life. — Mrs. Barbauld. 

*' Only waiting till the shadows 
Are a little longer grown ; 



108 ELOCUTION". 

Only waiting, till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown. 
Then, from out the gathered darkness, 

Holy, deathless stars shall rise. 
By whose light my soul shall gladly 

Tread its pathway to the skies." 

Only "Waiting. 

MODULATION, Continued. 

Every tone may have its chief characteristics classed under the 
three following heads : Force, Pitch, and Rate. 

First. Force, which regards the impulse of sound, and character- 
izes a tone as loud, faint, or moderate in utterance. 

Second. Pitch, which regards the strain of the voice in which 
words are uttered as on high, low, or middle notes of the musical 
scale. . 

Third. Rate, which regards the utterance or the articulation, as 
rapid, slow, or moderate. 

Forcible and loud tones belong to the following and similar /omSZe 
feelings and emotions : joy, courage, admiration, when strongly ex- 
pressive, — anger, indignation, revenge, terror. 

Gentle, soft, or u-eak tones characterize /ea?-, when not excessive, — 
pit7j, love, admiration, in its moderate expression, — tenderness, grief, 
and sorrow, when not excessive, — all of which imply comparative 
feebleness of feeling. Fear and grief, in excess, becomes loud. 

Loio notes, as naturally coinciding with deep feeling, are the ap- 
propriate expression of awe, stiblimitg, reverence, amazement, indigna- 
tion, anger, when grave and deep, — horror. 

High notes belong to th.e extremes of joy and of grief ; they char- 
acterize the tone of terror; they prevail, also, in pathetic and tender 
expression. They occur sometimes in violent anger and in scorn. 

Slowness characterizes the tones of grave and sedate feeling, 
— awe, sublimity, solemnity, reverence, pity, admiration, and grief, 
when deep and subdued, rather than violent. 

Rapidity marks the tones of excited and agitated feeling, — anger, 
eagerness, hurry, confusion, fear, terror, joy, and sometimes grief, 
when strongly expressed. 

Moderate emotions, or tranquil states of mind are distinguished 
by a moderate force, the medium pitch, and a moderate rate. 

From Prof. Russell's observations on modulation, we glean the following : 
No gravity of tone, or intensity of utterance, or precision of enuncia- 
tion, can atone for the absence of that natural change of the voice by 



MODULATIOK. 109 

which the ear is enabled to receive and recognize the tones of the various 
emotions accompanying the train of thought which the speaker is express- 
ing. These, and these only, can indicate his own sense of what he uttecs, 
or communicate it by sympathy to his audience. The adaptation of voice 
to the exj^ression of sentiment, is not less important when considered in 
reference to meaning as dependent on distinctions strictly intellectual, or 
not implying a vivid or varied succession of emotions. The correct and 
adequate representation of continuous or successive thought, requires its 
appi'opriate intonation, as may be observed in those tones of the voice 
which naturally accompany discussions and argument, even in their most 
moderate forms. The modulation or varying of tone, is important also as 
a matter of cultivated taste j it is the appropriate grace of vocal expres- 
sion. It has a charm founded in the constitution of our nature; it touches 
the finest and deepest sensibilities of the soul ; it constitutes the spirit and 
eloquence of the human voice, whether regarded as the noblest instru- 
ment of music, or the appropriate channel of thought and feeling. 

The pitch of the voice which may be referred to most conven- 
iently as a standard, is that of animated conversation. The average 
force of the voice may be taken as that which is sufficient for appropri- 
ate and intelligible utterance. The middle or common rate of articula- 
tion is that which prevails in moderate emotion. Variation, then, 
is to be understood as any departure from one or all of these, 
towards either extreme of utterance, whether loud or faint, high or 
low, fast or slow, — or as a transition or passing from one extreme 
to another of one or more of these qualities. Strong emotion will 
require marked, and great, and sometimes, sudden changes ; wMlst 
in moderate emotion, the changes will be slight and gradual. 

The common faults in single tones are, 

First : — A mechanical, unmeaning sameness of voice, which indicates 
the absence of appropriate feeling, and deprives spoken language 
of its natural expression. 

Second: — A want of force and vividness in tone, though otherwise 
appropriate, — a fault which renders delivery feeble, uninteresting, 
and unimpressive. 

Third : — An excessive force of tone, usually attended by a mouth- 
ing or a drawling manner, — a style utterly repugnant to correct 
taste, and subversive of the genuine expression of emotion. 

Fourth: — An habitual and personal tone, which characterizes the 
individual speaker merely, and is not the appropriate expression of 
feeling, but rather interferes with and prevents it. 

The first two of these faults would be avoided by entering deeply 
and fully into the sentiment which is expressed in the language 
read or spoken. This can be done only by giving to it that earnest 
and steadfast attention which is required to produce interest and 
sympathy in the mind, — the true source of appropriate and natural 
tones. 

10 



110 ELOCUTION. 

The third error arises from the habit of allowing the attention to 
float on the stream of language, instead of directing it to the 
thoughts expressed in what is read. The harmonious succession 
of the words, and not the force or beauty of the ideas, becomes 
involuntarily the object w^hich occupies the mind; and hence arises 
a measured and rhythmical flow of tone, adapted to clauses and sen- 
tences according to their sound, rather than to their sense. The 
fault is usually exemplified in the recitation of poetry. This habit 
would be overcome by directing the attention to the thought as 
exclusively as possible, — not suffering the mind to linger upon the 
phraseology, but endeavoring to attune the ear to a style of utter- 
ance flowing from the energy and harmony of the ideas. 

The fourth class of errors being as various as the habits of dif- 
ferent persons, cannot be specifically described. They are neces- 
sarily points of attention between teachers and pupils individually. 

The bad consequences of these faults are obvious. By monotony in 
reading, we lose almost as much as we should by pronouncing in conver- 
jsation every word in the same key. The voice becomes insipid and child- 
ish in its tone; meaning is entirely extracted from it; sense is sacrificed 
to timidity or awkwardness of habit, and the mental power of utterance 
is exchanged for a dull and lifeless uniformity or organic exercise, — un- 
worthy of a human being, and resembling rather the reiterated sound of a 
machine. 

Rhetorical aflFectation, on the other hand, is disgusting in its effect; it 
obscures or changes meaning by ill-judged and unnecessary variations of 
voice; it obtrudes the speaker to the exclusion of his subject, and substi- 
tutes a ridiculous parade of art for the simple eloquence of nature. 

Early practice in modulation is of the utmost importance, as the foun- 
dation of good habit: and this department of elocution instead of being 
deferred till late in the course, should be introduced as early as possible, 
and cultivated with the utmost attention. 

The first object of attention in practising in this department of 
elocution, should be to eradicate faulty and personal tones, as in- 
fluenced by habits of utterance, articulation, emphasis, or cadence. 
The imitation of incorrect tones may sometimes be necessary, to 
give the learner a distinct conception of the fault to be overcome. 

The next point is to succeed in producing force and appropriate- 
ness in tone, and facility in variation. One expedient for this 
purpose is by frequent illustrations and repetitions to impress on 
the reader's mind, the difi'erence between true and false tones of 
voice, — those of dignified conversation, and those of familiar talk, 
or of mechanical and monotonous reading. Another means of rec- 
tifying errors of this class, is, by interesting conversation and 
illustrative anecdote, to bring the learner's mind into the right 
mood of emotion, for the full expression of the sentiment. 

The pupil's own attentive study of the meaning of what he reads, 



MODULATION. Ill 

is, however, the best security for natural force and variation ol 
tone. Little improvement can be made in intonation, till the 
learner has acquired the power of abstracting his attention from a 
mechanical enunciation of the words he is reading, and can fix his 
mind with such force on the thoughts as to make them his own. 

The teacher may, by the proper selection of exercises in reading, do 
much to favor the acquisition of easy and natural tones of voice, care being 
taken that for young readers nothing is chosen which is above their compre- 
hension, or not adapted to their taste. Monotonous dulness and forced 
variety of tone, are equally caused by promiscuous and inappropriate 
reading. Where the mind has not the command of thought and feeling, 
it will naturally flow into a mechanical attention to words ; and in read- 
ing or speaking, the tones of the voice, (as they are always a true echo to 
the actual state of feeling,) will indicate the fact by formal and unmean- 
ing ntterance. 

"'Tis not enough the voice be sound and clear; 
'Tis modulation that must charm the ear. 
When desperate heroines grieve with tedious moan 
And whine their sorrows in a see-saw tone, 
The same soft sounds of unimpassioned woes 
Can only make the yawning hearers doze. 
The voice all modes of passion can express, 
That marks the proper word with proper stress. 
But none emphatic can that actor call, 
Who lays an equal emphasis on all. 

Some o'er the tongue the labored measures roll, 
Slow and deliberate as the parting toll : 
Point every stop, mark every pause so strong, 
Their words, like stage processions, stalk along. 
All affectation but creates disgust. 
And e'en in speaking we may seem too just. 

In vain for them the pleasing measure flows, 
Whose recitation runs it all to prose ; 
Repeating what the poet sets not down. 
The verb disjoining from its friendly noun, 
While pause, and break, and repetition join 
To make a discord in each tuneful line. 

Some placid natures fill the allotted scene 
With lifeless drone, insipid, and serene ; 
While others thunder every couplet o'er. 
And almost crack your ears with rant and roar. 

More nature oft, and finer strokes are shown 
In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone; 
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze 
More powerful terror to the mind conveys. 
Than he who, swollen with big, impetuous rage, 
Bullies the biilky phantom off' the stage. 

He who in earnest studies o'er his part 
Will find true nature cling about his heart. 
The modes of grief are not included all 
In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl; 
A single look more marks the internal woe 
Than all the windings of the lengthened 0! 
Up to the face the quick sensation flies, 



112 ELOCUTION. 

And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes : 
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair, 
And all the passions, all the soul, is there." — Lloyd. 

" Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly 
on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as 
lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with 
your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and 
(as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a 
temperance, that may give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the soul, 
to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow- tear a passion to tatters, to 
very rags, to split the ears of the groundlin'gs; who, for the most part, are 
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise: I would 
have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods 
Herod: pray you avoid it. 

"Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit 
the action to the word, the word to the action : with this special observance, 
that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is 
from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was, 
and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own 
feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his 
form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tifrdy off, though it make 
the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve. ... 0, there 
be players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that 
highly, — not to speak it profanel}', that, neither having the accent of 
christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have 
thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them 
well, they imitated humanity so abominably." — Hamlet's Instruction to the 
Players. 



SELECTIONS. — PUBE TONE. 113 

SELECTIONS. 

POETICAL ILLUSTEATIONS OF PURE TONE. 

LOVE, HOPE, AND PATIENCE IN EDUCATION. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
O'er wayward diildhood would'st thou hold firm rule, 
And sun thee in the light of happy faces ; 
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces, 
And in thine own heart, let them first keep school. 
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places 
Heaven's starry globe, and there Sustains it, — so 
Do these upbear the little world below 
Of Education, — Patience, Love, and Hope. 
Methinks I see them group'd in seemly show, 
The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope, 
And robes that, touching as adown they flow, 
Distinctly blend, like snow emboss'd in snow. 
part theni never ! If Hope prostrate lie, 
Love too will sink and die. 
But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive 
From her own life that Hope is yet alive ; 
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes, 
And the soft murmur of the mother dove, 
Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies ; — 
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love. 
Yet haply there will come a weary day. 

When overtask'd at length 
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way. 
Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength, 
Stands the mute sister. Patience, nothing loth, 
And both supporting, does the work of both. 

CRANMER'S PROPHECY. From "Henry Eighth." 

Let me speak, sir. 
For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
Let none think flattery, for they '11 find them truth. 
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her !) 
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
10* H 



114 ELOCUTION". 

Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be 

(But few now living can behold that goodness,) 

A pattern to all princes living with her, 

And all that shall succeed : Sheba was never 

More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, 

Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 

That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 

With all the virtues that attend the good. 

Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her, 

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : 

She shall be lov'd and fear'd : Her oAvn shall bless her : 

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn. 

And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with her: 

In her days, every man shall eat in safety 

Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 

The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors : 

God shall be truly known ; and those about her 

From her shall read the perfect ways of honor, 

And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 

Nor shall this peace sleep with her : But as when 

The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix. 

Her ashes new-create another heir. 

As great in admiration as herself ; 

So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,) 

Who from the sacred ashes of her honor. 

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was. 

And so stand fix'd : peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 

That were the servants to this chosen infant. 

Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 

His honor, and the greatness of his name 

Shall be, and make new nations : He shall flourish, 

And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 

To all the plains about him : — Our children's children 

Shall see this, afid bless heaven 

She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
An aged princess ; many days shall see her. 
And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
Would I had known no more ! but she must die, 
Sh^^ust, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin, 
A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her." 



SELECTIONS. — PUKE TONE. 115 



THIS WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY. 

Gerald Masaey. 

There lives a voice within me, a guest-angel of my heart, 

And its sweet lispings win me, till the tears a-trembling start; 

Up evermore it springeth, like some magic melody, 

And evermore it singeth this sweet song of songs to me — 

This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 

And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

Night's starry tendernesses dower with glory evermore, 

Morn's budding, bright, melodious hour comes sweetly as of yore ; 

But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet sun-bursts shine, 

And there be million hearts athirst for Love's immortal wine. 

This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 

And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

If faith, and hope, and kindness pass'd, as coin, 'twixt heart and 

heart, 
How, thro' the eye's tear-blindness, should the sudden soul upstart! 
The dreary, dim, and desolate, should wear a sunny bloom, 
And Love should spring from buried Hate, like flowers o'er Winter's 

tomb. 
This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

With truth our uttered language, Angels might talk with men, 

And God-illumined earth should see the golden Age again : 

The burthen'd heart should soar in mirth like Morn's young prophet 

lark. 
And Misery's last tear wept on earth, quench Hell's last cunning 

spark. 
For this world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

Lo ! plenty ripens round us, yet awakes the cry for bread, 
The millions still are toiling, crusht, and clad in rags, unfed! 
While sunny hills and valleys richly blush with fruit and grain, 
But the paupers in the pala.ce rob their toiling fellow-men. 
This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

Dear God ! what hosts are trampled 'mid this killing crush for gold ! 
What noble hearts. are sapp'd of love! what spirits lose life's hold ! 



116 ELOCUTION. 

Yet a merry world it might be, opulent for all, and aye, 

With its lands that ask for labour, and its. wealth that wastes away. 

This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above | 

And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flow'r-lips of the sod — 
The happy Birds that hymn their raptures in the ear of God — 
The summer wind that bringeth music over land and sea, 
Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of songs to me — 
This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

PROSE ILLUSTRATIONS OF EFFUSIVE OROTUND QUALITY. 

ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURa. Abraham Lincoln. 

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon 
this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to 
the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we. are en- 
gaged in a great civil war, tesl3.ng whether that nation — or any 
nation, so conceived and so dedicated — can long endure. We are 
met on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to dedicate a 
portion of it as the final resting-place of those who have given their 
lives that that nation might live. 

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, 
in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we 
cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who 
struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our power to add or 
to detract. The world will very little note, nor long remember, 
what we say here ; but it can never forget what they did here. 

It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated, here, to the un- 
finished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on. It is 
rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining be- 
fore us: that from these honored dead we take increased devotion 
to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of de- 
votion ; that we here highly nesolve that these dead shall not have 
died in vain : that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of 
freedom, and that. government of the people, by the people, for the 
people, shall not perish from the earth. 



SELECTIONS. — OROTUND QUALITY. 117 



■ EXTRACT FROM THE SECOND INAUGURAL. Ibid. 

Both parties deprecated war : but one of them would make war 
rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war 
rather than let it perish: and the war came. 

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not dis- 
tributed generally over the Union, but located in the southern part 
of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. 
All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To 
strengthen, perpetuate and extend this interest was the object for 
which the insurgents would rend the Union by war, while govern- 
ment claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial 
enlargement of it. Neither party expected the magnitude or the 
duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that 
the cause of the conflict might cease even before the conflict itself 
should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less 
fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray 
to the same God, and each invokes his aid against the other. It 
may seem strange that any man should dare to ask a just God's 
assistance in wringing his bread from the sweat of other men's 
faces. 

But let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayer of both 
should not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. 
The Almighty has his own purposes. '' Woe unto the world because 
of offences, for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that 
man by whom the offence cometh." 

If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of these offences, 
which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, 
having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to 
remove, and that he gives to both North and South this terrible 
war as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we 
discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which 
the believers in a living God always ascribe to him ? 

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty 
scourge of war may speedily pass- away. Yet, if God wills that it 
continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred 
and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every 
drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn 
with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it 
must he said that the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous 
altogether. 

With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in 



118 ELOCUTION. 

the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish 
'.he work vi^e" are in, to bind up the nation's wound, to care for him 
who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and orphans, to 
do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace 
among ourselves and with all nations. 

THE SHEPHERD OP THE PEOPLE. 

From " 71i€ Life and Death of Abraham Lincoln.'* 
So let him lie here in our midst to-day, and let our people go and 
bend with solemn thoughtfulness and look upon his face and read 
the lessons of his burial. As he paused here on his journey from his 
Western home and told us what by the help of God he meant to do, 
so let him pause upon his way back to his Western grave and tell 
us, with a silence more eloquent than words, how bravely, how 
truly by the strength of God he did it. God brought him up as he 
brought David up from the sheepfolds to feed Jacob his people, and 
Israel his inheritance. He came up in earnestness and faith, and 
he goes back in triumph. As he pauses here to-day, and from his 
cold lips bids us bear witness how he has met the duty that was 
laid on him, what can we say out of our full hearts but this — "He 
fed them with a faithful and true heart, and ruled them prudently 
with all his power." The Shepherd of the People! that old name 
that the best rulers ever craved. What ruler ever won it like this 
dead President of ours ? He fed us faithfully and truly. He fed 
us with counsel when we were in doubt, with inspiration when we 
sometimes faltered, with caution when we would be rash, with calm, 
clear, trustful cheerfulness through many an hour when our hearts 
were dark. He fed hungry souls all over the country with sym- 
pathy and consolation. He spread before the whole land feasts of 
great duty and devotion and patriotism on which the land grew 
strong. He fed us with solemn, solid truths. He taught us the 
sacredness of government, the wickedness of treason. He made 
our souls glad and vigorous with the love of Liberty that was in 
his. He showed us how to love truth and yet be charitable — how 
to hate wrong and all oppression, and yet not treasure one personal 
injury or insult. He fed all his people from the highest to the 
lowest, from the most privileged down to the most enslaved. Best 
of all, he fed us with a reverent and genuine religion. He spread 
before us the love and fear of God just in that shape in which we 
need them most, and out of his faithful service of a higher Master 
who of us has not taken and eaten and grown strong. " He fed 
them with a faithful and true heart." Yes, till the last. For at the 



SELECTIONS. — OROTUND QUALITY. 119 

last, behold Mm standing with hand reached out to feed the South 
with Mercy and the North with Charity, and the whole land with 
Peace, when the Lord who had sent him called him and his work 
was done. 

EXTRACT. Charles Sumner. 

Mourn not the dead, but rejoice in his life and example. Rejoice 
as you point to this child of the people, who was lifted so high that 
republican institutions became manifest in him! Rejoice that 
through him Emancipation was proclaimed ! Above all, see to it 
that his constant vows are fulfilled, and that the promises of the 
Fathers are maintained, so that no person in the upright form of 
man can be shut out from their protection. Then will the unity 
of the republic be fixed on a foundation that cannot fail, and other 
nations will enjoy its security. The corner-stone of National Inde- 
pendence is already in its place, and on it is inscribed the name of 
George Washington. There is another stone which must have its 
place at the corner also. This is the Declaration of Independence 
with all its promises fulfilled. On this stone we will gratefully 
inscribe the name of Abraham Lincoln. 

EXTRACT FROM "ALTON LOCKE." Charles Kingsley. 

And he was gone at last ! Kind women, whom his unknown 
charities had saved from shame, laid him out duly, and closed his 
eyes, and bound up that face that never would beam again with 
genial humor, those lips that would never again speak courage and 
counsel to the sinful, the oppressed, the forgotten. And there he 
lay, the old warrior dead upon his shield ; worn out by long years ^ 
of manful toil in The People's Cause ; and, saddest thought of all, 
by disappointment in those for whom he spent his soul. True, he 
was aged ; no one knew how old. He had said, more than eighty 
years ; but we had shortened his life and we knew it. He would 
never see that deliverance for which he had been toiling ever since 
the days when as a boy he had listened to Tooke and Cartwright, 
and the patriarchs of the people's freedom. Bitter, bitter, were 
our thoughts, and bitter were our tears, as Crossthwaite and I stood 
watching that beloved face, now in death refined to a grandeur, to 
a youthful simplicity and delicacy, which we had never seen on it 
before — calm and strong — the square jaws set firm even in death — 
the lower lip still clenched above the upper, as if in a divine indig- 
nation and everlasting protest, even in the grave, against the de- 
vourers of the earth. Yes, he was gone — the old lion, worn out 



120 ELOCUTION. 

with many wounds, dead in Ms cage. Where could we replace him? 
There were gallant men among us, eloquent, well-read, earnest — 
men whose names will ring through this land ere long — men who 
had been taught wisdom, even as he, by the sinfulness, the apathy, 
the ingratitude, as well as by the sufferings of iheir fellows. But 
where should we two find again the learning, the moderation, the 
loug experience, above all the more than woman's tenderness of him 
whom we had lost? And at that time, too, of all others! Alas! we 
had despised his counsel ; wayward and fierce, we would have none 
of his reproof; and now God had withdrawn him from us; the 
righteous was taken away from the evil to come. For we kncAv that 
evil was coming. We felt all along that we should not succeed. But 
we were desperate ; and his death made us more desperate ; still at 
the moment it drew us nearer to each other. Yes — we were rud- 
derless upon a roaring sea, and all before us blank with lurid 
blinding mist ; but still we were together, to live and die ; and as 
we looked into each other's eyes, and clasped each other's hands 
above the dead man's face, we felt that there was love between us, 
as of Jonathan and David, passing the love of woman. 

Few words passed. Even our passionate artisan-nature, so 
sensitive and voluble in general, in comparison with the cold re- 
serve of the field-laborer and the gentleman, was hushed in silent 
awe between the thought of the past and the thought of the future. 
We felt ourselves trembling between two worlds. We felt that to- 
morrow must decide our destiny — and we felt rightly, though little 
we guessed what that destiny would be ! 

EXTRACT FROM " THE POTIPHAR PAPERS." 

Geo. William Curtis. 
These elegant Pendennises we saw at Mrs. Potiphar's, but not 
without a sadness which can hardly be explained. They had been 
boys once, all of them, fresh and frank-hearted, and full of a noble 
ambition. They had read and pondered the histories of great men ; 
how they resolved, and struggled, and achieved. In the pure por- 
traiture of genius, they had loved and honoured noble women, and 
each young heart was sworn to truth and the service of beauty. 
Those feelings were chivalrous and fair. Those boyish instincts 
clung to whatever was lovely, and rejected the specious snare, how- 
ever graceful and elegant. They sailed, new knights, upon the old 
and endless crusade against hypocrisy and the devil, and they were 
lost in the luxury of Corinth, nor longer seek the difficult shores 
beyond. A present smile was worth a future laurel. The ease of 



SELECTIONS. — OEOTUND QUALITY. 121 

the moment was wortli immortal tranquillity. They renounced the 
stern worship of the unknown God, and acknowledged the deities 
of Athens. But the seal of their shame is their own smile at their 
early dreams, and the high hopes of their boyhood, their sneering 
infidelity of simplicity, their skepticism of motives and of men. 



EXTRACT. Eev. F. W. Eohertson. 

It is an awful moment when the soul begins to find that the 
props on which it has blindly rested so long are, many of them, 
rotten, and begins to suspect them all; when it begins to feel the 
nothingness of many of the traditionary opinions which have been 
received with implicit confidence, and in that horrible insecurity 
begins also to doubt whether there be anything to believe at all. It 
is an awful hour, — let him who has passed through it say how 
awful, — when this life has lost its meaning, and seems shrivelled 
into a span ; when the grave appears to be the end of all, human 
goodness nothing but a name ; and the sky above this universe a 
dead expanse, black with the void from which God himself has dis- 
appeared. In that fearful loneliness of spirit, when those who 
should have been his friends and counsellors only frown upon his 
misgivings, and profanely bid him stifle doubts, which for aught he 
knows may arise from the fountain of truth itself; to extinguish^ as 
a glare from hell, that which for aught he knows may be light from 
heaven, — and everything seems wrapped in hideous uncertainty, I 
know but one way in which a man may come forth from his agony 
scatheless ; it is by holding fast to those things which are certain 
still, — the grand, simple landmarks of morality. In the darkest 
hour through which a human soul can pass, whatever else is doubt- 
ful, this at least is certain. If there be no God, and no future state, 
yet even then, it is better to be generous than selfish, better to be 
chaste than licentious, better to be true than false, better to be brave 
than to be a coward. Blessed beyond all earthly blessedness is the 
man who, in the tempestuous darkness of the soul, has dared to hold 
fast to these venerable landmarks. Thrice blessed is he who, — 
when all is drear and cheerless within and without, when his 
teachers terrify him, and his friends shrink from him, — has obsti- 
nately clung to moral good. Thrice blessed, because Ms night shall 
pass into clear, bright day. 

I appeal to the recollection of any man who has passed through 
that hour of agony, and stood upon the rock at last, the surges 
stilled below him, and the last cloud drifted from the sky above, 
11 



122 ELOCUTION. 

with a faith, and hope, ana trust no longer traditional, but of his 
own, — a trust which neither earth nor hell shall shake thenceforth 
forever. 



POETICAL ILLUSTEATIONS OF OROTUND QTJALITY. 

THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

Do ye hear the children weeping, my brothers, 

Ere the sorrow comes with years ? 
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, — 

And that cannot stop their tears. 
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows : 

The young birds are chirping in the nest ; 
The young fawns are playing with the shadows ; 

The young flowers are blowing toward the west — 
But the young, young children, my brothers, 

They are weeping bitterly 1 — 
They are weeping in the play-time of the others. 

In the country of the free. 

Do you question the young children in the sorrow, 

Why their tears are falling so ? — 
The old man may-weep for his to-morrow 

Which is lost in Long Ago — 
The old tree is leafless in the forest — 

The old year is ending in the frost — 
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest — 

The old hope is hardest to be lost: 
But the young, young children, my brothers, 

Do you ask them why they stand 
Weeping sore before the bosom of their mothers, 

In our happy Fatherland? 

They look up with their pale and sunken faces, 

And their looks are sad to see. 
For the man's grief abhorrent, draws and presses 
Down the cheeks of infancy — 
*< Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary ; " 
*'Our young feet," they say, "are very weak! 
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary — 
Our grave rest is very far to seek ! 



SELECTIONS. — OROTUND QUALITY. 123 

Ask the old why they weep, and not the children, 

For the outside earth is cold, — 
And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, 

And the graves are for the old ! " 

"True," say the young children, "it may happen 
That we die before our time ! 
Little Alice died last year — the grave is shapen 

Like a snowball, in the rime. 
We looked into the pit prepared to take her — 
Was no room for any work, in the close clay : 
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, 

Crying, 'Get up, little Alice ! it is day.' 
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, 
. With your ear down, little Alice never cries ! — 
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, 

For the smile has time for growing in her eyes, — 
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in 

The shroud, by the kirk-chime ! 
It is good when it happens," say the children, 
" That we die before our time ! " 

Alas, the wretched children ! they are seeking . 

Death in life, as best to have ! 
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking. 

With a cerement from the grave. 
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city — 

Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do — 
Pluck you handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty — 
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through. 
But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows 

Like our weeds anear the mine 1 
Leave us quiet in the dark, of the cold shadows. 

From your pleasures fair and fine ! 

**For oh," say the children, "we are weary, 
And we cannot run or leap — 
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely 

To drop down in them and sleep. 
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping — 

We fall upon our faces, trying to go ; 
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, 
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. 



124 



ELOCUTION. 

For, all day, we drag our burden tiring, 

Through the coal-dark, underground — 

Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 
In the factories, round and round. 

'For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning, — 

Their wind comes in our faces, — 
Till our hearts turn, — our heads, with pulses burning, 

And the walls turn in their places — 
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling — 
Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall — 
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling — 
All are turning, all the day, and we with all ! — 
And all day the iron wheels are droning ; 

And sometimes we could pray, 
'0 ye wheels,' (breaking out in a mad moaning,) — 
' Stop ! be silent for to-day ! ' " 

Ay ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing 

For a moment, mouth to mouth — 
Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing 

Of their tender human youth ! 
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion 

Is not all the life God fashions or reveals — 
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion 

That they live in you, or under you, wheels ! — 
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, 

As if Fate in each were stark; 
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, 

Spin on blindly in the dark. 

Now tell the poor young children, my brothers. 

That they look to Him and pray — 
So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others, 

Will bless them another day. 
They answer, "Who is God that He should hear us, 

While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ? 
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us 

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word ! 
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) 

Strangers speaking at the door : 
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him, 

Hears our weeping any more ? 



SELECTIONS. — OROTUND QUALITY. 125 

** Two words, indeed, of praying, we remember ; 
And at midnight's hour of harm, — 
*Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, 

We say softly for a charm. 
We know no other words, except 'Our Father,' 

And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, 
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, 

And hold both within His right hand which is strong 
< Our Father ! ' If He heard us. He would surely 

(For they call him good and mild) 
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 
'Come and rest with me, my child,' 

<* But, no ! " say the children, weeping faster, 
" He is speechless as a stone ; 
And they tell us, of His image is the master 

Who commands us to work on. 
Go to ! " say the children, — " Up in Heaven, 

Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find ! 
Do not mock us ; grief has left us unbelieving, — 

We look up for God, but tears have made us blind.'" 
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, 

my brothers, what you teach ? 
For God's possible is taught by His world's loving — 
And the children doubt of each. 

And well may the children weep before you ; 

They are weary ere they rnn ; 
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory 

Which is brighter than the sun : 
They know the grief of men, but not the wisdom, 

Are bitter with despairing, but not calm — 
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom, — 

Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm, — 
Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly 

No dear remembrance keep, — 
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly : 

Let them weep ! let them weep ! 

They look up, with their pale and sunken faces, 

And their look is dread to see. 
For you think you see their angels in their places, 

With eyes meant for Deity ; — 
11* 



126 ELOCUTION-. 

<'How long," they say, "how long, cruel nation, 

Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, — 
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, 

And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ? 
Our blood splashes upwards, our tyrants, 

And your purple shows your path ; 
But the child's sob curseth deeper in the silence 
Than the strong man in his wrath ! " 

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. Thomas Hood. 

With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt. 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
She sang the "Song of the Shirt! " 

" Work ! work ! work ! 
While the cock is crowing aloof! 

And work — work — work, 
Till the stars shine through the roof! 
It's Oh! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save 

If this Is Christian work ! 

"Work — work — work 
Till the brain begins to swim ; 

Work — work — work 
Till the eyes are heavy and dim! 
Seam, and gusset, and band, 

Band, and gusset, and seam. 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 

And sew them on in a dream ! 

" Oh, men, with sisters dear ! 

Oh, men, with mothers and wives ! 
It is not linen you're wearing out, 
But human creatures', lives ! 

Stitch — stitch — stitch, 
In poverty, Jiunger, and dirt 



SELECTIONS. — OEOTUND QUALITY. 127 

Sewing at once, with a double thread, 
A shroud as well as a shirt. 

"But why do I talk of Death? 

That phantom of grisly bone, 
I hardly fear his terrible shape, 

It seems so like my own — 

It seems so like my own. 

Because of the fasts I keep ; 
Oh, God ! that bread should be so dear, 

And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

** Work — work — work ! 

My labor never flags; 
And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags. 
That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

' ' Work — work — work ! 
From weary chime to chime. 

Work — work — work — 
As prisoners work for crime ! 

Band, and gusset, and seam. 

Seam, and gusset, and band. 
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, 

As well as the weary hand. 

"Work — work — work, 
In the dull December light. 

And work — work — work. 
When the weather is warm and bright — 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling. 
As if to show me their sunny backs 

And twit me with the spring. 

"Oh J but to breathe the breath 
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — 

With the sky above my head, 
And the grass beneath my feet, 
For only one short hour 



128 ELOCUTION. 

To feel as I used to feel, 
Before I knew the woes of want 
And the walk that costs a meal ! 

"Oh! but for one short hour! 

A respite however brief! 
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, 

But only time for Grief ! 
A little weeping would ease my heart, 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread ! " 

With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, . 
A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 
Plying her needle and thread — 

Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, 
Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! 
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" 

DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. Alexander Pope. 

Vital spark of heavenly flame, 
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame ; 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying — 
Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 
And let me languish into life. 

Hark ! they whisper ; angels say. 
Sister spirit, come away ! 
What is this absorbs me quite ? 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 

The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring : 
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 
grave ! where is thy victory ? 

death ! where is thy sting ? 



SELECTIONS. — OROTUND QUALITY. 129 

EXTEACT FROM "A EHAPSODT GF LIFE'S PROGRESS." 

Mrs. Browning. 

Help me, God — lielp me, man ! I am low, I am weak — 
Death loosens my sinews and creeps in my veins ; 
My body is cleft by these wedges of pains, 

From my spirit's serene ; 
And I feel the externe and insensate creep in 

On my organized clay. 

I sob not, nor shriek, 

Yet I faint fast away ! 
I am strong in the spirit, — deep-thoughted, clear-eyed, — 
I could walk, step for step, with an angel beside, 

On the Heaven-heights of Truth ! — 

Oh! the soul keeps its youth — 
But the body faints sore, it is tired in the race, — 
It sinks from the chariot ere reaching the goal ; 

It is weak, it is cold. 

The rein drops from its hold — ' 
It sinks back with the death in its face ! 

On, chariot, — on, soul, — 

Ye are all the more fleet — 

Be alone at the goal 

Of the strange and the sweet ! 
Love us, God ! — love us, man ! We believe, we achieve — 

Let us love, let us live, 

For the acts correspond — 

"We are glorious — and die ! 
And again on the knee of a mild Mystery 

That smiles with a change, 
Here we lie ! 
Death, Beyond, 
Thou art sweet, thou art strange! 

COWPER'S GRAVE. Ibid. 

" I will invite thee, from thy envious herse 
To rise, and 'bout the world thy beams to spread, 
That we may see there 's brightness in the dead." — Hahington. 

It is a place where poets crowned 

May feel the heart's decaying — 
It is a place where happy saints 

May weep amid their praying — 
I 



130 ELOCUTION. 

Yet let the grief and humbleness, 
As low as silence, languish ; 

Earth surely now may give her calm 
To whom she gave her anguish. 

poets ! from a maniac's tongue 

Was poured the deathless singing ! 
Christians ! at your cross of hope 

A hopeless hand was clinging ! 
men ! this man, in brotherhood, 

Your weary paths beguiling, 
Groaned inly while he taught you peace, 

And died while ye were smiling ! 

And now, Avhat time ye all may read 

Through dimming tears his story — 
How discord on the music fell, 

And darkness on the glory — 
And how, when one by one, sweet sounds 

And wandering lights departed, 
He wore no less a loving face, 

Because so broken-hearted — 

He shall be strong to sanctify 

The poet's high vocation, 
And bow the meekest Christian down 

In meeker adoration : 
Nor ever shall he be in praise. 

By wise or good forsaken ; 
Named softly, as the household name 

Of one whom God hath taken ! 

With sadness that is calm, not gloom, 

I learn to think upon him ; 
With meekness that is gratefulness, 

On God whose Heaven hath won him — 
Who suffered once the madness-cloud, 

Toward His love to blind him ; 
■ But gently led the blind along 

Where breath and bird could find him; 

And wrought within his shattered brain, 

Such quick poetic senses, 
As hills have language for, and stars. 

Harmonious influences ! 



SELECTIONS. — OROTUND QUALITY. 131 

The pulse of dew upon tlie grass, 

His own did calmly number ; 
And silent shadows from the trees 

Fell o'er him like a slumber. 

The very world by God's constraint, 

From falsehood's chill removing, 
Its women and its men became 

Beside him, true and loving ! — 
And timid hares were drawn from woods 

To share his home-caresses, 
UplooMng to his human eyes 

With sylvan tendernesses. 

But while, in blindness he remained 

Unconscious of the guiding, 
And things provided came without 

The sweet sense of providing. 
He testified this solemn truth, 

Though frenzy-desolated — 
Nor man, nor nature satisfy. 

Whom only God created! 

Like a sick child that knoweth not 

His mother while she blesses, 
And drops upon his burning brow 

The coolness of her kisses ; 
That turns his fevered eyes around — 

"My mother ! where 's my mother ? " — 
As if such tender words and looks 

Could come from any other ! 

The fever gone, with leaps of heart 

He sees her bending o'er him; • 
Her face all pale from watchful love, 

Th' unweary love she bore him ! 
Thus woke the poet from the dream 

His life's long fever gave him, 
Beneath those deep patheti-c eyes. 

Which closed in death, to save him ; 

Thus ! oh, not thus ! no type of earth 

Could image that awaking, 
Wherein he scarcely heard the chant 

Of seraphs, round him breaking — 



132 ELOCUTION. 

• Or felt the new immortal throb 
Of soul from body parted ; 
But felt those eyes alone, and knew 
^^My Saviour! not deserted! " 

Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when 

The cross in darkness rested, 
Upon the victim's hidden face 

No love was manifested ? 
What frantic hands outstretched have e'er 

Th' atoning drops averted — 
What tears have washed them from the soul — 

That one should be deserted ? 

Deserted! God could separate 

From His own essence rather : 
And Adam's sins have swept between 

The righteous Son and Father — 
Yea ! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry 

His universe hath shaken — 
It went up single, echoless, 

" My God, I am forsaken! " 

It went up from the Holy's lips 

Amid his lost creation. 
That of the lost, no son should use 

Those words of desolation ; 
That, earth's worst phrenzies, marring hope. 

Should mar not hope's fruition ; 
And I, on Cowper's grave, should see 

His rapture, in a vision ! 

THE WAITING. John G. WMttier, 

I wait and watch : before my eyes 

Methinks the night grows thin and gray; 

I wait and watch the eastern skies 

To see the golden spears uprise 
Beneath the oriflamme of day ! 

Like one whose limbs are bound in trance 
I hear the day sounds swell and grow, 

And see across the twilight glance. 

Troop after troop, in swift advance, 
The shining ones with plumes of snow! 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 133 

I know the errand of their feet, 

I know what mighty work is theirs ; 

I can but lift up hands unmeet, 

The threshing-floors of God to beat, 
And speed them with unworthy prayers. 

I will not dream in vain despair 

The steps of progress wait for me ; 
The puny leverage of a hair 
The planet's impulse well may spare, 

A drop of dew the tided sea. 

The loss, if loss there be, is mine, 

And yet not mine if understood ; 
For one shall grasp and one resign, 
One drink life's rue, and one its wine, 

And God shall make the balance good. 

power to do! baffled will! 

prayer, and action! ye are one; 
Who may not strive, may yet fulfil 
The harder task of standing still. 

And good but wished with God is done ! 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE DIFFERENT QUALITIES OF TONE. 

TO A SKYLARK. Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 

Bird thou never wert. 
That from heaven, or near it, 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher. 

From the earth thou springest 
Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest. 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun. 
O'er which clouds are brightening, 
Thou dost float and run; 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
12 



134 ELOCUTION". 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven, 
In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. 

Keen are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere, 
Whose intense lamp narrows 
In the white dawn clear, 
Until we hardly see, or feel that it is there. 

All th-e earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare. 

From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. 

What thou art we know not; 

What is most like thee? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see. 
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought. 
Singing hymns unbidden, 
Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heedeth not ; 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 

Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : 

Like a glow-worm golden 

In a dell of dew. 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view : 

Like a rose embowered 

In its own green leaves. 
By warm winds deflowered, 

Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 135 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awakened flowers. 

All that ever was 
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine: 
I have never heard 

Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal. 

Or triumphant chaunt, 
Matched with thine would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 

What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be : 
Shadow of annoyance 
Never came near thee: 
Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream, ' 
Or how could thy notes, flow in such a crystal stream? 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not : 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

Yet if we could scorn . ■ 

Hate, and pride, and fear; 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever could come near. 



136 ELOCUTION. 

Better than all measures 

Of delight and sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow. 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

" L'6ternit6 est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces 
deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux : 'Toujours! jamais! 
Jamais ! toujoui's!*" — Jacques Bridaine. 

Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
Across its antique. portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw. 
And from the station, in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, — 
"Forever — never! 
Never — forever ! " 

Halfway up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands 
From its case of massive oak. 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
"Forever — never!" 
Never — forever ! " 

By day its voice is low and light ; 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 
It echoes along the vacant hall. 
Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say, at each chamber- door, — 
"Forever — never! 
Never — forever!" 



SELECTION'S. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 137 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 
** Forever — never ! 
Never — forever!^' 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
"Forever — never! 
Never — forever!" 

There groups of merry children played, 
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 
precious hours ! golden prime, 
And afiluence of love and time ! 
Even as a miser counts his gold, 
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
"Forever — never! 
Never — forever!" 

From that chamber, clothed in white. 
The bride came forth -on her wedding night. 
There, in that silent room below. 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the prayer. 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
"Forever — never! 
Never — forever ! " 

All are scattered now and fled. 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
**Ah! when shall they all meet again?" 
As in the days long-since gone "by. 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
"Forever — never! 
Never — forevei I " 
12^ 



138 ELOCUTION". 

Never here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care. 
And death, and time shall disappear, 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 
" Forever — never ! 
Never — forever! " 



BUGLE SONG. From " The Princess."— Tennyson, 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying : 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

hark, hear ! how thin and clearj 

And thinner, clearer, further going ; 
sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

love, they die in yon rich sky, 

They faint on hill or field or river : 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
And grow forever and forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

THE DREAM OS EUGENE ARAM. Thomas Hood. 

'T.was in the prime of summer time. 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and-twenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school : 
There were some that ran and some that leapt, 

Like troutlets in a pool. 

Away they sped with gamesome minds, 
And souls untouch' d by sin; 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 139 

To a level mead they came, and there 

They drave the wickets in : 
Pleasantly shown the setting sun 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran, — 
Turning to mirth all things of earth, 

As only boyhood can; 
But the Usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man ! 

His hat was off, his vest apart, 

To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 
For a burning thought was in his brow, 

And his bosom ill at ease : 
So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read 

The book between his knees ! 

Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er. 

Nor ever glanced aside. 
For the peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide : 
Much study had made him very lean. 

And pale, and leaden-eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome. 

With a fast and. fervent grasp 
He strain'd the dusky covers close. 
And fix'd the brazen hasp : 
*' Oh, God ! could I so close my mind, 
And clasp it with a clasp ! " 

Then leaping on his feet upright. 

Some moody turns he took,— 
Now up the mead, then down the mead, 

And past a shady nook, — 
And, lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book ! 

*' My gentle lad, what is 't you read — 
Romance or fairy fable ? 
Or is it some historic page. 

Of kings and crowns unstable? " 



140 ELOCUTION. 

The young hoy gave an upward glance, — 
'' It is ' The Death of Abel.'" 

The Usher took six hasty strides, 
As smit with sudden pain, — 

Six hasty strides beyond the place, 

Then slowly back again ; 
And down he sat beside the lad. 
And talk'd with him of Cain ; 

And, long since then, of bloody men 
Whose deeds tradition saves; 

Of lonely folk cut off unseen. 
And hid in sudden graves ; 

Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn. 
And murders done in caves ; 

And how the sprites of injured men 
Shriek upward from the sod, — 

Ay, how the ghostly hand will point 
To show the burial clod ; 

And unknown facts of guilty acts 
Are seen in dreams from God ; 

• He told how murderers walked the earth 
Beneath the curse of Cain, — 

With crimson clouds before their eyes. 
And flames about their brain: 

For blood has left upon their souls 
Its everlasting stain ! 

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, 
Their pangs must be extreme, — 

Woe, woe, unutterable woe, — 
Who spill life's sacred stream 1 

For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought 
A murder, in a dream ! 

" One that had never done me wrong — 

A feeble man and old ; 
I led him to a lonely field, — 

The moon shown clear and cold : 
'Now here,' said I, 'this man shall die, 

And I will have his gold I ' 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 141 

** Two sudden blows with ragged stick, 

And one with a heavy stone, 
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — 

And then the deed was done : 
There was nothing lying at my foot 

But lifeless flesh and bone! 

** Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 
That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I fear'd him all the more, 

For lying there so still : 
There was a manhood in his look, 
That murder could not kill ! 

" And, lo ! the universal air 

Seem'd lit with ghastly flame ; — 
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 

Were looking down in blame : 
I took the dead man by his hand, 

And call'd upon his name ! 

**0, God ! it made me quake to seft 

Such sense within the slain ! 
But when I touch' d the lifeless clay, 

The blood gush'd out amain ! 
For every clot, a burning spot 

Was scorching in my brain ! 

<* My head was like an ardent coal. 
My heart as solid ice ; 
My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 

Was at the Devil's price: 
A dozen times I groan'd ; the dead 
Had never groan'd but twice ! 

** And now, from forth the frowning sky. 
From the Heaven's topmost height, 
I heard a voice — the awful voice 

Of the blood-avenging sprite : — 
'Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead 
And hide it from my sight.!' 

**I took the dreary body up, 
And cast it in a stream, — 



14:2 ELOCUTION". 

A sluggish water, black as ink, 
The depth was so extreme : — 

My gentle Boy, remember this 
Is nothing but a dream ! 

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, 
And vanish' d in the pool ; 
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 

And wash'd my forehead cool, 
And sat among the urchins young, 
That evening in the school. 

"Oh, Heaven! to think of their white souls, 
And mine so black and grim ! 
I could not share in childish prayer, 

Nor join in Evening Hymn : 
Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, 
'Mid holy Cherubim ! 

"And peace went with them, one and all, 
And each calm pillow spread ; 

But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain 
That lighted me to bed ; 

And drew my midnight curtains round, 
With fingers bloody red ! 

"All night I. lay in agony, 

Li anguish dark and deep. 
My fever'd eyes I dared not close. 

But stared aghast at Sleep : 
For Sin had render'd unto her 

The keys of Hell to keep ! 

"All night I lay in agony. 

From weary chime to chime. 

With one besetting horrid hint, 
That rack'd me all the time ; 

A mighty yearning, like the first 
Fierce impulse unto crime ! 

. "One stern tyrannic thought, that made 
All other thoughts its slave ; 
Stronger and stronger every pulse 
Did that temptation crave, — 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. L43 

Still urging me to go and see 
The Dead Man in his grave ! 

"Heavily I rose up, as soon 

As light vs^as in the sky, 
And sought the black accursed pool 

With a wild misgiving eye ; 
And I saw the Dead in the river bed, 

For the faithless stream was dry. 

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook 
The dew-drop from its wing ; 
But I never mark'd its morning flight, 

I never heard it sing : 
For I was stooping once again 
Under the horrid thing. 

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

I took him up and ran ; — 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day began : 
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I hid the murder'd man ! 

** And all that day I read in school. 

But my thought was other where ; 
As soon as the mid-day task was done. 

In secret I was there : 
And a mighty wind had swept the leaves. 

And still the corse was bare ! 

<< Then down I cast me on my face 
And first began to weep. 
For I knew my secret then was one 

That earth refused to keep : 
Or land or sea, though he should be 
Ten thousand fathoms deep. 

'* So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 

Till blood for blood atones ! ■^ 

Ay, though he 's buried in a cave, 

And trodden down with stones, 
• And years have rotted off his flesh 

The world shall see his bones ! 



144 ELOCUTION. 

♦' Oh, God ! that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Again — again, with dizzy brain, 

The human life I take ; 
And my red right hand grows raging hot, 

Like Cranmer's at the stake. 

•* And still no peace for the restless clay, 
Will wave or mould allow ; 

The horrid thing pursues my soul, — 
It stands before me now!" 

The fearful Boy look'd up, and saw 
Huge drops upon his brow. 

That very night, while gentle sleep 
The urchin eyelids kiss'd. 

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 
Through the cold and heavy mist ; 

And Eugene Aram walk'd between, 
With gyves upon his wrist. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. Longfellow, 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

''Life is but an empty dream!" 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, ■ 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real! life is earnest! 
And the grave is not its goal ; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow. 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting. 

And our hearts, though stout and brave. 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 145 

In the world's Ibroad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead. 

Lives of great men all remind us 

We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Footprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,. 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing. 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 

INVOCATION TO THE NEW YEAR. 

From "/n Memoriam." — Tennyson. 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. 

The flying cloud, the frosty light; 

The year is dying in the night ; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new. 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow : 

The year is going, let him go; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor. 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife; 
13 K 



146 ELOCUTION. 

Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 

The civic slander and the spite ; 

Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease. 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free. 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land. 

Ring in the Christ that is ta be. 

" POOR JO." From " Bleah House:'— Lichens. 

"Well, Jo ! What is the matter? Don't be frightened." 

<'I thought," says Jo, who has started and is looking round, "I 
thought I was in Tom- all- Alone' s agin. An't there nobody here but 
you, Mr.Woodcot?" 

"Nobody." 

"And I an't took back to Tom-all- Alone' s. Am I, sir?" 

"No." Jo closes his eyes, muttering, "I am wery thankful." 

After watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his mouth 
very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct voice: 

"Jo! Did you ever know a prayer?" 

"Never know'd nothink, sir." 

"Not so much as one short prayer?" 

"No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he was a prayiu' 
wunst at Mr. Sangsby's, and I heerd him, but he sounded as if he 
was a speakin' to his-self, and not to me. He prayed a lot but I 
couldn't make out nothing on it. Different times there wos other 
gen'lmen comedown Tom-all- Alone' s a-prayin', but they mostly sed 
as the t'other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a 
talking to theirselves, or a passing blame on the t'others, and not a 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TOISJi.. 147 

talkin' to us. We never knowd nothink. I never knowd what it wos 
all alb out." 

It takes him a long time to say this ; and few Tbut an experienced 
and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, understand him. 
After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, of a sudden, a 
strong effort to get out of bed. 

"Stay, Jo, stay! What now?" 

"It's time for me to go to that there berryin-ground, sir," he 
returns with a wild look. 

"Lie down, and tell me. What burying-ground, Jo? " 

"Where they laid him as wos wery good to me : wery good to me 
indeed, he wos. It's time fur me to go down to that there berryin- 
ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there 
and be berried. He used fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you 
to-day, Jo,' he ses. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him 
now, and have come there to be laid along with him." 

"By-and-by, Jo. By-and-by." 

"Ah! P'raps they would n't do it if I wos to go myself. But will 
you promise to have me took there, sir, and have me laid along with 
him ? " 

"I will, indeed." 

*' Thankee, sir. Thankee, sir. They '11 have to get the key of 
the gate afore they can take me in, for it's alius locked. And there's 
a step there, as I used fur to clean with my broom. It 's turned 
wery dark, sir. Is there any light a-comin' ? " 

"It is coming fast, Jo." 

Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is 
very near its end. 

"Jo, my poor fellow ! " 

"I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I 'm a gropin' — a gropin' — 
let me catch hold of your hand." 

"Jo, can you say what I say? " 

♦* I'll say anythink as you say, sir, for I know it's good." 

" Our Father." 

"Our Father! — Yes, that's wery good, sir." 

"Which art in Heaven." 

"Art in Heaven — is the light a-comin', sir?" 

" It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name ! " 

" Hallowed be — thy — name ! " 

"The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead \ Dead, 
your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, Bight Rev- 
erends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men and 



148 ELOCUTION. 

women, born with Heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying 
thus around us every day ! 



SCENE FROM "MACBETH." Shakespeare. 

Macbeth alone. 
Macbeth. Is this a dagger which I see before me ? 
The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As that which now I draw. 
Thou marshal' st me the way that I was going ; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still, 
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
Which was not so before.^ — There's no such thing: 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtained sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offering ; and wither'd murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. — Thoii sure and firm-set earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my where-about. 
And take the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it. — While I threat, he lives: 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

[A bell rings. ) 
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 

That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. (^Exii.) 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold : 
What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire : — Hark ! — Peace ! 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 149 

It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 

Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: 

The doors are open ; and the suspected grooms 

Do mock their charge with snores. I have drugg'd their possets, 

That death and nature do contend about them, 

Whether they live or die. 

Macbeth {within). Who 's there ? — what ho ! 

Lady 31. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd, 
And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed, 
Confounds us : — Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready, 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept, I had done 't. — My husband ? 

Enter Macbeth. 

Macb. I have done the deed : — Did'st thou not hear a noise ? 

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. 
Did not you speak? 

Macb. When ? 

Lady M. Now. 

3Iacb. As I descended ? 

Lady M. Ay. 

Macb. Hark ! — 

Who lies i' the second chamber ? 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. 

[Looking on his hands.) 

Lady 31. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Macb. There 's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murder I 
That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them: 
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 

Macb. One cried, God bless us I and Amen, the other ; 
As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands, 
Listening their fear. I could not say, amen, 
When they did say, Grod bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce amen ? 
I had most need of blessing, and amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
13* 



150 ELOCUTION. 

Mach. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! 
Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; 
Sleep, that knits up the ravelVd sleave of care, 
The death of each day''s life, sore lahor^s bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
Chief nourisher in life's feast. 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Ifacb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house. 
Glamis hath murdered sleep ; and therefore Cawdor 
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ! 

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from their place ? 
They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Macb. I'll go no more : 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
Look on't again, I dare not. 

Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, 
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal. 
For it must seem their guilt. 

[Uxit. — Knocking within.) 

Macb. AVhence is that knocking ? 

How is 't with me, when every noise appals me? 
What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous sea incarnadine, 
Making the green — one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. My hands are of your color ; but I shame 
To wear a heart so white. — [Knock.) I hear a knocking 

At the south entry : retire we- to our chamber : 

A little water clears us of this deed : 

How easy is it then ? Your constancy 

Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.) Hark, more knocking : 

Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us. 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 151 

And show us to be watcliless : — Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Mach. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know myself. 

[Knock.) 
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! Ay, 'would thou couldst ! 



THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OP LINCOLNSHIRE. (1571.) 

Jean Ingelow. 
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers rang by two, by three ; 
"Pull, if ye never pulled before; 

Grood ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 
"Play uppe, play uppe, Boston bells! 
Ply all your changes, all your swells, 
Play uppe ' The Brides of Enderby.' " 

Men say it was a stolen tyde — 

The Lord that sent it, He knows all ; 
But in myne ears doth still abide 

The message that the bells let fall : 
And there was nought of strange, beside 
The flight of mews and peewits pied 

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 

[ sat and spun within the doore. 
My thread brake oif, I raised myne eyes ; 

The level sun, like ruddy ore. 
Lay sinking in the barren skies. 

And dark against day's golden death 

She moved where Lindis wandereth, 

My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 

"Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling, 
Ere the early dews were falling, 
Farre away I heard her song. 
, " Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ; 

Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 

Floweth, floweth. 
From the meads where melick groweth 
Faintly came her milking song — 

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !" calling 
" For the dews will soone be falling ; 



152 ELOCUTION. 

Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; 
Come uppe Wliitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow ; 
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
From the clovers lift your head ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
Jetty, to the milking shed." 

If it be long, ay, long ago, 

When I beginne to think howe long, 
Againe I hear the Lindis flow. 

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong ; 
And all the aire, it seemeth mee. 
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee). 
That ring the tune of Enderby. 

Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 
And not a shadows mote be seene. 

Save where full fyve good miles away 
The steeple towered from out the greene ; 

And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 

Was heard in all the country side 

That Saturday at eventide. 

The swanherds where their sedges are 
Moved on in sunset's golden breath. 
The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 
And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; 
Till floating o'er the grassy sea 
Came downe that kindly message free. 
The "Brides of Mavis Enderby." 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
And all along where Lindis flows 

To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows. 

They sayde, "And why should this thing be? 

What danger lowers by land or sea ? 

They ring the tune of Enderby ! 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 153 

*< For evil news from Mablethorpe, 

Of pyrate galleys warping downe ; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne : 
But while the west bin red to see, 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring ' The Brides of Enderby ' ? " 

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 

Came riding down with might and main: 

He raised a shout as he drew on, 
Till all the welkin rang again, 
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" 

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 

"The old sea wall (he cried) is downe, 
The rising tide comes on apace, 
And boats adrift in yonder towne 

Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
He shook as one that looks on death : 
" God save you, mother ! " strait he saith ; 
" Where is my wife, Elizabeth ? " 

"Good Sonne, where Lindis winds away, 
. With her two bairns I marked her long ; 
And ere yon bells beganne to play 
Afar I heard her milking song." 
He looked across the grassy lea. 
To right, to. left, " Ho Enderby ! " 
They rang " The Brides of Enderby ! " 

With that he cried and beat his breast ; 

For, lo ! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest. 

And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud ; 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 



And rearing Lindis backward pressed. 
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine, 

Then madly at the eygre' s breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 



154 ELOCUTION. 

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout — 
Then beaten foam flew round about — 
Then all the mighty floods were out. 

So farre, so fast the eygre drave, 
The heart had hardly time to beat, 

Before a shallow seething wave 
Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet. 

The feet had hardly time to flee 

Before it brake against the knee, 

And all the world was in the sea. 

Upon the roofe we sat that night, 

The noise of bells went sweeping by ; 

I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stream from the church tower, red and high- 

A lurid mark and dread to see ; 

And awesome bells they were to mee, 

That in the dark rang "Enderby." 

They rang the sailor lads to guide 

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 

And I — my sonne was at my side, 
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 

And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 
< come in life, or come in death ! 

lost ! my love, Elizabeth." 

And did'st thou visit him no more ? 

Thou did'st, thou did'st, my daughter deare ; 
The waters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere yet the early dawn was clear, 
Thy^pretty bairns in fast embrace. 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
That ebbe swept out the flocks to see ; 

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 

To manye more than myne and me : 

But each will mourn his own (she saith), 

And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 155 

I shall never hear her more 

By the reedy Lindis shore, 
"Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha!" calling, 

Ere the early dews be falling ; 

I shall never hear her song, 
" Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along 

Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 
Goeth, floweth ; 

From the meads where melick groweth, 

When the water winding down, 

Onward floweth to the town. 

I shall never see her more 

Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 

Shiver, quiver ; 
Stand beside the sobbing river. 
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling 
To the sandy lonesome shore ; 
I shall never hear her calling, 
"Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; 
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, 

Hollow, hollow ; 
Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow ; 

Lightfoot, Whitefoot, 
From your clovers lift the head ; 
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, 
Jetty, to the milking shed," 

THE MAY QUEEN. Tennyson. 

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; 
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New- Year ; 
Of all the glad New-Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day ; 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 

May. 
There 's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as 

mine ; 
There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline; 
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say ; 
So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 

May. 



156 ELOCUTION. 

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, 
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : 
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
May. 

As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see. 
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree ? 
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday, — 
But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
May. 

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, 
And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light. 
They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
May. 

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be : 
They say his heart is breaking, mother — what is that to me ? 
There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day. 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
May. 

Little Efiie shall go with me to-morrow to the green. 
And you '11 be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen ; 
For the Shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away. 
And I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the 
May. 

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers ; 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers ; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and 

hollows gray. 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 

May. 

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass. 
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass ; 
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day. 
And I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the 
May. 

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill. 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 157 

And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 

May. 

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; 
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year: 
To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest, merriest day, 
For I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the 
May, 

NEW- YEAR'S EVE. 

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear, 

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-Year. 

It is the last New-Year that I shall ever see. 

Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me. 

To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind 
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind ; 
And the New-Year 's coming up, mother, but I shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. 

Last May we made a crown of flowers : we had a merry day ; 
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May; 
And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel copse. 
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops. 

There's not a flower on all the hills; the frost is on the pane: 
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: 
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high : 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 

The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, 

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea. 

And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, 

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. 

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, 
In the early, early morning the summer sun 'ill shine. 
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill. 
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still. 

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light 
You '11 never see me more in the long gray fields at night ; 
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool 
On the oat -grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool 
14 



158 ELOCUTION. 

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, 
And you '11 come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid. 
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, 
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. 

I have been wild and wayward, but you '11 forgive me now: 
You '11 kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow: 
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, 
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. 

If I can I '11 come again, mother, from out my resting-place ; 
Though you '11 not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, 
And be often, often with you when you think I 'm far away. 

Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night forevermore, 
And jj^ou see me carried out from the threshold of the door : 
Don't let Eflfie come to see me till my grave be growing green: 
She '11 be a better child to you than ever I have been. 

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor: 
Let her take 'em : they are hers: I shall never garden more : 
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set 
About the parlor-window, and the box of mignonette. 

Good-night, sweet mother ; call me before the day is born, 
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn ; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-Year, 
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear. 

CONCLUSION. 

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am ; 

And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb. 

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year ! 

To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's here. 

sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies. 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise. 
And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow, 
And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go. 

It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun. 
And now it seems as hard to stay : and yet. His will be done I 
But still I think it can't be long before I find release ; 
And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. 



SELECTIONS.— QUALITIES OF TONE. 159 

blessings on liis kindly yoice and on his silver hair! 

And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there.' 

blessings on his kindly heart, and on his silver head ! 
A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed. 

He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the sin. 

Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me int 

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, 

For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me. 

1 did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death watch beat, 
There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet: 
But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, 
And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. 

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call : 
It was when the morn was setting, and the dark was over all ; 
The bees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, 
And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my so-ul. 

For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear ; 
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here ; 
With all my strength I prayed for both, and so I felt resigned, 
And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. 

i thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed. 
And then did something speak to me — I know not what was said; 
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, 
And up the valley came again the music on the wind. 

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them, it's mine." 
And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign. 
And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, 
Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die among the stars. 

So now I think my time is near : I trust it is. I know 
The blessed music went that way my soiil will have to go. 
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day. 
But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away. 

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret : 
There 's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet. 
If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have been his wife.; 
But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life 



160 ELOCUTION. . 

look ! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ; 

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. 

And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine — 

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. 

sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done 
The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun — 
Forever and forever with those just souls and 'true — 
And what is life, that we should moan ? why make we such ado ? 

Forever and forever, all in a blessed home — 

And there to wait a little while till you and EflBe come — 

To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast — 

And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. 



THE. BELLS. Edgar A. Poe, 

Hear the sledges with the bells — 
Silver bells ! 
What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight; 
. Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Eunic rhyme. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight ! 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune. 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding-cells, 



SELECTION'S. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 161 

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! — how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 

Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright ! 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulatix)n with the deaf and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeayor 
Now — now to sit, or never. 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of Despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
By the twanging 
And the clanging. 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling 
How the danger sinks and swells. 
By the sinking and the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
Of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
14* L 



162 ELOCUTION. 

Bells, bolls, bells. 
In the clanioi' and the claugor of the bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a woi'ld of solemn thought their monody compels! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor'human — 
They are Ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 

Rolls 
A paean from the bells! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the psean of the bells ! 
And he dances, and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the pgean of the bells — 
Of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells : -^ 
Keeping time, time, time. 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme. 

To the rolling of the bells ^ 
Of the bells, bells, bells : — 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 163 

To the tolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells ! 



ODE TO THE PASSIONS. Wm. Collins. 

When Music, heavenly maid ! was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Thronged around her magic cell ; 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting. 
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting ; 
fey turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each, for madness ruled the hour. 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords, bewilder'd laid, 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire. 
In lightnings own'd his secret stings ; 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
And swept, with hurried hand, the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 
Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled ; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thou, Oh Hope! with eyes so fair, 
What Was thy delighted measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scene at distance hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 



164 ELOCUTION". 

And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. 
And longer had she sung, but, with a frown. 

Revenge impatient rose ; 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down. 
And with a withering look. 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ; 
And ever and anon he beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild, unalter'd mien. 
While each strain' d ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd. 
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired, 

And from her wild, sequestered seat. 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 

And clashing soft from rocks around. 

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ; 
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, 

Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace, and lonely musing, 

In hollow murmurs died away. 

But, oh! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone. 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 

Her bow across her shoulder flung. 

Her buskins gcmm'd with morning dew. 

Blew an inspiring aix', that dale and thicket rung, 

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known; 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 165 

The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 

Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen 

Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, 
And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial ; 

He, with viny crown advancing, 
First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; 
But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 

They would have thought, who heard the strain, 

They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 

Amidst the festal sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
Love framed with Mirth, a gay fantastic round : 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 

And he, amidst his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay. 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 



GODIVA. Tennyson. 

1 waited for the train at Coventry ; 
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, 
To' watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped 
The city^s ancient legend into this : — 

Not only we, the latest seed of Time, 
New men, that in the flying of a wheel 
Cry down the past, not only we, that prate 
Of rights and wrongs, have loved "the people well, 
And loathed to see them overtaxed ; but she 
Did more, and underwent, and overcame, 
The woman of a thousand summers back, 
Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled 
In Coventry : for when he laid a tax 
Upon his town, and all the mothers brought 
Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve ! " 
She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode 
About the hall, among his dogs, alone. 
His beard a foot before him, and his hair 



-fvat 



166 ELOCUTION. 

A yard behind. She told him of their tears, 

And prayed him, "If they pay this tax, they starve." 

Whereat he stared, replying half-amazed, 

"You would not let your little finger ache 

For such as these ?" — " But I would die," said she. 

He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul : 

Then filliped at the diamond in her ear ; 

" ay, ay, ay, you talk ! " — " Alas ! " she said, 

" But prove me what it is I would not do." 

And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand. 

He answer'd, "Ride you naked through the town, 

And I repeal it ; " and nodding, as in scorn, 

He parted, with great strides among his dogs. 

So left alone, the passions of her mind, 
As winds from all the compass shift and blow. 
Made war upon each other for an hour. 
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, 
And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all 
The hard condition ; but that she would loose 
The people : therefore*, as they loved her well, 
From then till noon no foot should pace the street, 
No eye look down, she passing ; but that all 
Should keep within, door shut, and window barred. 

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there 
Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, 
The grim Eai'l's gift ; but ever at a breath 
She lingered, looking like a summer moon 
Half-dipt in cloud : anon she shook her head, 
And shoAvered the rippled ringlets to her knee ; 
Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair 
Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid 
From pillar unto pillar, untir she reached 
The gateway ; there she found her palfrey trapt 
In purple blazoned with armorial gold. 

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: 
The deep air listened round her as she rode, 
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. 
The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout 
Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cur 
Made her cheek flame : her palfrey's footfall shot 
Light horrors through her pulses : the blind walls 
Were full of chinks and boles ; and overhead 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 167 

Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she 
Not less tlirough all bore up, till, last, she saw 
The white-flowered elder thicket from the field 
Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. 
Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: 
And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, 
The fatal byword of all years to come, 
Boring a little auger-hole in fear, 
Peeped — but his eyes, before they had their will, 
Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, 
And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait 
On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; 
And she, that knew not, passed : and all at once, 
"With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon 
Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers. 
One after one : but even then she gained 
Her bower ; whence reissuing, robed and crowned, 
To meet her lord, she took the tax away. 
And built herself an everlasting name. 



EXTRACT FROM "THE PRINCESS." Tennyson. 

The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink 
Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free : 
For she that out of Lethe scales with man 
The shining steps of Nature, shares with man 
His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, 
Stays all the fair young planet in her hands - — 
If she be small, slight-natured, miserable. 
How shall men grow ? but work no more alone ! 
Our place is much : as far as in us lies 
We two will serve them both in aiding her — 
Will clear away the parasitic forms 
That seem to keep her up, but drag her down — 
Will leave her space to burgeon out of all 
Within her — let her make herself her own 
To give or keep, to live and learn and be 
All that not harms distinctive womanhood. 
For woman is not undeveloped man, 
But diverse : could we make her as the man, 
Sweet love were slain : his dearest bond is this. 
Not like to like, but like in difference. 



VdS ELOCUTION. 

Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; 

The man Tbe more of woman, she of man ; 

He gain in sweetness and in moral height, 

Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; 

She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, 

Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; 

Till at the last she set herself to man. 

Like perfect music unto noble words ; 

And so these twain, upon the. skirts of Time, 

Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, 

Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, 

Self-reverent each and reverencing each, 

Distinct in individualities, 

But like each other even as those who love. 

Then comes the statelier Eden back to men : 

Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: 

Then springs the crowning race of human kind. 

May these things be ! 

EXTRACT FROM THE "RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY.'* 

J/?'«. Browning. 
Ho ! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing, — 

Toll slowly ! 
With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in — 
Shrieks of doing and undoing ! 

Twice he wrung her hands in twain ; but the small hands closed 

again, — 

Toll sloioly ! 

Back he reined the steed — back, back! but she trailed along his 

track, 

With a frantic clasp and strain! 

Evermore the foeman pour through the crash of window and door, — 

Toll slowly! 
And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of " kill ! " and 

"flee!" 

Strike up clear the general roar. 

Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, — but they closed and clung 

again, — 

Toll slowly ! 

Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood, 

In a spasm of deathly pain. 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 169 

She clung wild and she clung mute, — with her shuddering lips 
half-shut, — 

Toll slowly ! 
Her head fallen as in a swound, — hair and 'knee swept on the 
ground, — 

She clung wild to stirrup and foot. 

Back he reined his steed, back-thrown on the slippery coping 
stone, — 

Toll slowly ! 

Back the iron hoofs did grind, on the battlement behind. 
Whence a hundred feet went down. 

And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, 

Toll slowly ! 
" Friends, and brothers ! save my wife ! — Pardon, sweet, in change 
for life, — 

But I ride alone to God ! " 

Strait as if the Holy name did upbreathe her as a flame, — 

Toll slowly ! 
She upsprang, she rose upright ! — in his selle she sat in sight ; 
By her love she overcame. 

And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest, — 

Toll slowly ! 
"Ring," she cried, "0 vesper-bell, in the beech-wood's old cha- 

pelle ! 

But the passing bell rings best." 

They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose — in 

vain, — 

Toll slowly I 

For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, 

On the last verge, rears amain. 

And he hangs, he rocks between — and his nostrils curdle in, — 

Toll slowly ! 
And he shivers head and hoof — and the flakes of foam fall off; 
And his face grows fierce and thin ! 

And a look of human woe, from his staring eyes did go — 

Toll slowly ! 
And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony 

Of the headlong death below, 

15 



170 ELOCUTION. 

And, "Ring, ring, — thou passing bell," still she cried, "i' the old 
chapelle ! 

Toll sloxoly ! 
Then back-toppling, crashing back — a dead weight flung out to 
wrack, 

Horse and riders overfell! 



EXTRACT FROM <' THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY." 

Bernard of Cluni. Trans, by John Mason Neale. 

For thee, dear, dear Country ! 

Mine eyes their vigils keep; 
For very love, beholding 

Thy happy name, they weep. 
The mention of thy glory 

Is unction to the breast, 
And medicine in sickness, 

And love, and life, and rest. 

one, onely Mansion! 

Paradise of Joy ! 
Where tears are ever banished, 

And smiles have no alloy, 
Beside thy living waters 

All plants are, great and small, 
The cedar of the forest. 

The hyssop of the wall; 
With jaspers glow thy bulwarks, 

Thy streets with emeralds blaze. 
The sardius and the topaz 

Unite in thee their rays ; 
Thine ageless walls are bonded 

With amethyst unpriced: 
Thy saints build up its fabric, 

And the corner-stone is Christ. 

Thou hast no shore, fair Ocean ! 

Thou hast no time, bright day! 
Pear fountain of refreshment 

To pilgrims far away! 
Upon the Rock of Ages 

They raise thy holy tower; 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 171 

Thine is the victor's laurel, 
And thine the golden dower. 

Jerusalem the golden, 

With milk and honey hlest, 
Beneath thy contemplation 

Sink heart and voice oppressed. 
I know not, I know not, 

What social joys are there ! 
What radiancy of glory, 

What light beyond compare ! 

They stand those halls of Sion, 

Conjubilant with song. 
And bright with many an angel, 

And all the martyr throng ; 
The Prince is ever in them, 

The daylight is serene ; 
The pastures of the Blessed 

Are decked in glorious sheen. 

Jerusalem the glorious! 

The glory of the Elect! 
dear and future vision 

That eager hearts expect ! 
Even now by faith I see thee, 

Even here thy walls discern ; 
To thee my thoughts are kindled, 

And strive, and pant, and yearn. 



Exult, dust and ashes I 

The Lord shall be thy part ; 
His only. His for "ever. 

Thou shalt be, and thou art! 
Exult, dust and ashes ! 

The Lord shall be thy part; 
His only. His for ever. 

Thou shalt be, and thou art! 



172 ELOCUTIOi!^". 



THE SOLDIER FROM BINGEN. Mrs. Norton, 

A Soldier of tlie Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's 

tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside him, while the life-blood ebbed away^ 
And bent with pitying glance to hear each word he had to say. 
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, 
And he said : "I never more shall see my own — my native land! 
Take a message and a token to the distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Rhine! 

*' Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd 

around, 
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, 
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun; 
And 'midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars. 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, — the last of many scars! 
But some were young, and suddenly beheld Life's morn decline, — 
And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine! 

"Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 

For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage ; 

For my father was a soldier, and even when a child. 

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; 

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 

I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword! 

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, 

On the cottage wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Rhine! 

" Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
"When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant 

tread ; 
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye. 
For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die ! 
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; 
And to hang the old sword in its place — (my father's sword and 

mine). 
For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine! 



SELECTIONS. — QUALITIES OF TONE. 173 

"There's another, — not a sister, — in the happy days gone by, 
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; 
Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning, — 
Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest 

mourning. 
Tell her the last night of my life (for ere this moon be risen 
My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison,) 
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Rhine! 

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along — I heard or seemed to hear, 

The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 

And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 

The echoing chorus soimded, through the evening calm and still, 

And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk, 

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine, — 

But we'll meet no more at Bingen, — loved Bingen on the R-hine! " 

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp was childish 

weak, 
His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed, and ceased to speak; 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn ! 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, 
As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine. 

THE NATION'S DEAD. 

Four hundred thousand men, 

The brave — the good — the true, 
In tangled wood, in mountain glen. 
On battle plain, in prison pen, 

Lie dead for me and you ! 
Four hundred thousand of the brave 
Have made our ransomed soil their grave, 
For me and you ! 

Good friend, for me and you ! 

In many a fevered swamp, 
• By many a black bayou, 
In many a cold and frozen camp. 
The weary sentinel ceased his tramp, 
15* 



174 ELOCUTION. 

And died for me and you! 
From Western plain to ocean tide 
Are stretched the graves of those who died 
For me and you! 

Good friend, for me and you! 

On many a bloody plain 

Their ready swords they drew, 

Andpoured their life-blood, like the rain, 

A home — a heritage to gain. 
To gain for me and you ! 

Our brothers mustered by our side, 

They marched, they fought, and bravely died 
For me and you ! " 
Good friend, for me and you ! 

Up many a fortress wall 

They charged — those boys in blue — 
'Mid surging smoke, and volley'd ball 
The bravest were the first to fall ! 

To fall for me and you! 
These noble men — the nation's pride - 
Four hundred thousand men have died 
For me and you ! 

Good friend, for me and you ! 

In treason's prison-hold 

Their martyr spirits grew^ 
To stature like the saint's of old, 
While amid agonies untold. 

They starved for me and you ! 
The good, the patient and the tried, 
Four hundred thousand men have died 
For me and you ! 

Good friend, for me and you ! 

A debt we ne'er can pay 

To them is justly due, 
And to the nation's latest day 
Our children's children still shall say, 

"They died for me and you!" 
Four hundred thousand of the brave 
Made this, our ransomed soil, their grave 
For me and you ! 

Good friend, for me and you! 



INFLECTIONS. 175 



INFLECTIONS. 

Inflections are the peculiar slides which the voice takes 
in pronouncing a letter, syllable, or word. 

The Rising Inflection is the upward slide of the voice. It may 
be indicated by the acute accent ( '' ). 

The Falling Inflection is the downward slide of the voice. It 
may be indicated by the grave accent (^).* 

The Circumflex or Wave is the union of the rising and falling in- 
flections. It is called Direct when the first interval ascends (^^); 
Inverted, when the order of the intervals is reversed ( "v) ; Equal, 
when the rising and falling are the same, and Unequal, when they 
are different. It is called Single when two intervals only are thus 
joined (v or /s^) ; Double, when another is joined continuously to 
tlie second of the single form (\a). 

" The use of Inflection is to give significance to speech ,• it constitutes 
that part of modulation addressed to the understanding, ranking next to 
distinct articulation, as the means of rendering consecutive oral expression 
intelligible. It has, too, a certain effect of local melody, — so to term it, — 
in the successive clauses of a sentence, without which aid we could not 
discriminate between the commencement and the completion of a thought 
addressed to the ear. 

Propriety of tone, even in the plainest forms of prose reading, is 
wholly dependent on the right use of inflections. ... In the reading of 
verse, appropriate inflections are the only means of avoiding the two great 
evils of monotony and cHant." — Russell. 

"Words may be considered under three aspects: as representatives of 
simple thought, as indicative of an enforcing of thought and as expres- 
sive of passion. The progress of the voice in speaking (as before stated) is 
called Melody. The course of melody under the direction of simple 
thought, is through the interval of a tone in the radical change, with a 
concrete rise of a tone from each of those radicals. But the portions of 
discourse representing simple thought ai'e limited ,■ thoughts are to be 
enforced and passions expressed. The tenor of the simple diatonic 
melody is therefore often interrupted by an occurrence of wider intervals 
of the scale both in the concrete and discrete forms." — Rxiali. 

•■'■ Should the pupil be unable readily to distinguish between the rising 
and falling inflections, the following plan may be adopted to overcome 
the difficulty. 

Take for illustration the word "constitution." To exemplify the use of 
the falling inflection, let the question be asked, "What is the word?" — 
The answer — " Constitution" — will inevitably be given with the falling 
elide of the voice. To secure the use of the rising slide, a direct question, 
(demanding a positive answer, — "yes," or "no" — ) may be asked by the 
pupil; thus, "Is the word 'Constitution'?" The interrogation will be 
involuntarily made with the rising inflection. 



176 ELOCUTION. 

By the term Octave is meant the uninterrupted move- 
ment of the voice from any assumed radical place, through 
the notes of the scale, till it vanishes in the eighth degree 
above or below that radical place. 

The Rising Octave expresses the most forcible degree 
of interi^ogation, and of emphasis on a rising intervaL It 
is the appropriate intonation of questions accompanied 
with contempt, mirth, raillery, and the temper or triumph 
of peevish or indignant argument. 

Examples. 

" My extravagance ! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than 
a woman ought to be 

"Sir Peter, am I to blame because flowers are dear in cold 
weather ? You should find fault with the climate, and not with 
me. For my part, I 'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, 
and that roses grew under our feet." — School foe, Scandal.— 
Sheridan. 

"Do you deny me justice? Saints of heaven, 
He turns from me! Do you deny me justice ? 
For fifteen years, while in these lands dwelt empire, 
The humblest craftsman — the obscurest vassal — 
The very leper shrinking from the sun, 
Though loathed by Charity, might ask for justice ! 
Not with the fawning tone and crawling mien 
Of some I see around you — Courts and Princes — % 
Kneeling for favors ; — but erect and loud. 
As men who ask man's rights ! my liege, my Lord, 
Do you refuse me justice — audience even — 
In the pale presence of the baffled Murther ? " 

Richelieu. — Bulwer, 

"What ? shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth 
To write that in five bodies were contained 
The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five defunct, 
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, 
Deliver' d up her keys, stript ofi" her robes, 
And so with all humility besought 
Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly ! " 

Philip Van Artevelde. — - Henry Taylor. 



INFLECTIONS. — KISING FIFTH. 177 

**If it will feed nothing else, it will leed my revenge. He hath 
disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at my 
losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bar- 
gains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his 
reason ? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a Jew 
hands, organs, dimensions. Senses, affections, passions ? Is he not 
fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the 
same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by 
the same summer and winter, as a Christian is ? If you stab us, 
do we not bleed ? If you tickle us, do we not laugh ? If you poi- 
son us, do we not die ? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? 
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a 
Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility ? Revenge. If a 
Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian 
example ? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will 
execute ; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction." — 
ShylocTc, in The Merchant of Venice. 

The Rising Fifth, like the octave, is used for interroga- 
tion, — for wonder and admiration, when they embrace a 
slight degree of inquiry and doubt, and for emphasis. It 
has, however, less of the smart inquisitiveness of the latter 
interval ; it is the most common form of interrogation, and 
without having the piercing force of the octave, is equally- 
capable of energy, and is always more dignified in its 
expression. 

" The intonation of the octave, whethei' by concrete or by radical pitch, is 
rarely employed; since a rise of eight degrees above the ordinary line of 
utterance carries most speakers into the falsette. And even with those in 
whom the rise might not exceed the natural voice, the melody, when sud- 
denly changed in radical pitch, would often be ludicrous, from contrast; 
or would be in danger of breaking into the falsette in its variations ; or 
would be beyond the limits of the spenker's skilful elocution. These ob- 
jections do not apply to an occasional skip of radical pitch through the 
ascent of the fifth; the variation being less striking in contrast; and the 
interval of a fifth above the common range of the voice, being rarely beyond 
practicable management." — Bush. 

Examples. 

"Must I bid twice? Hence, varlets fly! 
Leave Marmion here alone to die." 

Mabmion. — Scott. 
M 



178 ELOCUTION-. 

''They tell us, Sir, that we are weak, — unable to cope with so 
formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger ? Will 
it be the next week, or the next year ? Will it be when we are 
totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in 
every house ? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inac- 
tion? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying 
supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, 
until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? " — Patrick 
Henry. 

" Of love that never found his earthly close, 
What sequel ? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts ? 
Or all the same as if he had not been ? 

Not so. Shall Error in the round of time 
Still father Truth ? 0, shall the braggart shout 
For some blind glimpse of freedom work itself 
Through madness, hated by the wise, to law 
System and empire ? Sin itself be found 
The cloudy porch oft opening on the Sun? 
And only he, this wonder, dead, become 
Mere highway dust ? or year by year alone 
Sit brooding in the ruins of a life. 
Nightmare of youth, the spectre of himself? 

If this were thus, if this, indeed, were all, 
Better the narrow brain, the stony heai;t, 
The staring eye glared o'er with sapless days, 
The long mechanic pacings to and fro, 
The set gray life, and apathetic end. 
But am I not the nobler through thy love ? 
three times less unworthy! likewise thou 
Art more through Love, and greater than thy years. 
The Sun will run his orbit, and the Moon 
Her circle. Wait, and Love himself will bring 
The drooping flower of Knowledge changed to fruit 
Of wisdom. Wait : my faith is large in Time, 
And that which shapes it to some perfect end. 

Will some one say, then why not ill for good ? 
Why took ye not your pastime ? To that man 
My works shall answer, since I knew the right 
And did it ; for a man is not as God, 
But then most Godlike being most a man." 

LoTE AND Duty. — Tennyson. 



INFLECTIONS. — RISING THIRD. 179 

''When the great Ship of Life, 
Surviving, though shattered, the tumult and strife 
Of earth's angry elenient, — masts broken short, 
Decks drench'd, bulwarks beaten — drives safe into port; 
When the Pilot of Galilee, seen on the strand, 
Stretches over the waters a welcoming hand ; 
When, heeding no longer the sea's baffled roar, 
The mariner turns to his rest evermore ; 
What will then be the answer the helmsman must give ? 
Will it be. ... ' Lo our log book ! Thus once did we live 
In the zones of the South ; thus we traversed the seas 
Of the Orient ; there dwelt in the Hesperides : 
Thence followed the west wind ; here, eastward we turned ; 
The stars failed us there ; just here land we discerned 
On our lea ; there the storm overtook us at last ; 
That day went the bowsprit, the next day the mast; 
There the mermen came round us, and there we saw bask 
A syren ? ' The Captain of Port will he ask 
Any one of such questions ? I cannot think so ! 
But . . . ' what is the last Bill of Health you can show ? ' 
Not — How fared the soul through the trials she pass'd? 
But, — What is the state of that soul at the last ? " 

Lfcile, — Owen 3Ieredith. 

The Rising Third is also used for interrogative expres- 
sion and for emphasis: but its degree in both these cases 
is less than the fifth. It is the sign of interrogation in its 
most moderate form, and carries with it none of those sen- 
timents, which, jointly with the question, were allotted to 
the Fifth and Octave. 

Examples. 

"What would'st thou have a great good man obtain? 
Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain. 
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain? 
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. 
Hath he not always treasures, always friends, 
The good great man ? Three treasures — love, and light, 
And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath ; 
And three fast friends, more sure than day or night — 
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death." 

The Good Great Man. — Coleridge. 



180 ELOCUTION. 

**Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 
Awoke one night from a sweet dream of peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel, writing in a book of gold : 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the Presence in the room he said, 

'What writest thou? ' The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord. 
Answered — 'The names of those who love the Lord.' 

'And is mine one?' said Abou; 'Nay, not so,' 
Replied the angel. — Abou spoke more low. 
But cheerly still ; and said, ' I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.' 

"The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light. 
And showed the names whom love of God had bless'd — 

, And, lo ! Ben Adhem' s name led all the rest." 

Abou Ben Adhem. — Leigh Hunt. 

" Passion is blind, not love ; her wondrous might 
Informs with threefold power man's inward sight ; 
To her deep glance, the soul, at large displayed. 
Shows all its mingled mass of light and shade: 
Men call her blind when she but turns her head. 
Nor scans the fault for which her tears are shed. 
Can dull IndiflFerence ot Hate's troubled gaze 
See through the secret heart's mysterious maze ? 
Can Scorn and Envy pierce that ' dread abode ' 
Where true faults rest beneath the eye of Grod ? 
Not theirs, 'mid inward darkness, to discern 
The spiritual splendors, how they shine and burn. 
All bright endowments of a noble mind 
They, who with joy behold them, soonest find ; 
And better none its stains of frailty know 
Than they who fain would see it white as snow." — Coleridgt 

"And is there care in Heaven? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace, 
That may compassion of their evils move ? 
There is : — else much more wretched were the cace 
Of men than beasts : But ! th' exceeding grace 



INFLECTIONS. — DOWNWARD OCTAVE. 181 

Of Highest God tliat loves his creatures so, 
And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, 
That blessed a^ngels he sends to and fro, 
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe ! 

*' How oft do they their silver bowers leave 

To come to succour us that succour want ! 

How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 

The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant 

Against foule fiends, to ayd us militant ! 

They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward. 

And their bright squadrons round about us plant ; 

And all for love and nothing for reward : 
0, why should Hevenly God to men have such regard! " 

Faerie Queene. — Spenser. 

The Downward Octave expresses the highest degree of 
admiration, astonishment, ^ and positive command, either 
alone or united with other sentiments. Its expression is 
marked by a quaint sentiment of familiarity, or an axces- 
sive degree of violence. 



Examples. 

** I give you six hours and a half to consider of this; if you then 
agree, without any condition, to do everything on earth that I 
choose, why, confound you ! I may in time forgive you. If not, 
don't enter the same hemisphere with me! don't dare to breathe 
the same air, or use the same light with me: but get an atmosphere 
and sun of your own : I '11 strip you of your commission ; I '11 lodge 
a five-and-three-pence in the hands of your trustees, and you shall 
live on the interest. I '11 disown you ; I '11 disinherit you ; and 
hang me, if ever I call you Jack again ! " 

The Rivals. — Knowles. 

" Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! slave ! — 
Pardon me, lords, 't is the first time that ever 
I was forced to scold." — Coriolanus. — Shakespeare. 

'" Boy ! false hound ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there 
16 



182 ELOCUTION. 

That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
Flutter'd your Voices in Corioli : 
Alone I did it. — Boy ! "— Ibid. 

"Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones; 
Fling down your sceptres ; take the rod and axe, 
And make the murder as you make the law ! 

Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set free 
From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 

Tried and convicted traitor ! Who says this ? 
Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 
Banished ! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! 
1 held some slack allegiance till this hour ; 
But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords! 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes. 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
But here I stand and scoff you ! here, I fling 
Hatred and defiance in your face ! 
Your con.sul 's merciful. — For this, all thanks. 
He daises not touch a hair of Catiline! " 

Catiline to the Senate. — Croly. 

The Downward Fifth has in many respects a meaning, 
similar to the octave, but it clothes its sentiments of smiZ- 
ing surprise, admiration, and command with greater 
dignity. Its concrete, like that of the octave, may be modi- 
fied in meaning by different applications of stress. 

Examples. 

"A thousand hearts are great within my bosom : 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ! 
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms." 

King, in Richard Third. 

" Begone ! run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plagues 
That needs must light on this ingratitude ! " 

Marcellus, in Julius C^sar. 



INFLECTIONS. — DOWNWARD THIRD. 183 

" 'Tis Cassar's sword has made Rome's Senate little, 
And thinned its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye 
Beholds this man in a false glaring light, 
Which conquest and success have thrown upon him ; 
Didst thou but view him right, thou 'dst see him black 
With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — crimes 
That strike my soul with horror but to name them. 
I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch 
Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes ; 
But, as I love my country, millions of worlds 
Should never buy me to be like that CaBsar." 

Cato. — Addison, 

^<'Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 

There stands a spectre in your hall : 
The guilt of blood is at your door : 

You changed a wholesome heart to gall. 
You held your course without remorse, 
To make him trust his modest worth, 
And, last, you fixed a vacant stare. 
And slew him with your noble birth." 

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, — Tennyson. 

"The Downward Third has an expression similar to that 
of the fifth, but of more moderate degree. Dignity of 
vocal character, like that of personal gesture, consists not 
only in the slowness of time, and the restraint of effort, 
but in a limitation within the widest range of movement. 
As there is most composure in an interrogation by the use 
of a third, so the expression of surprise and admiration by 
a downward interval, is most subdued and dignified when 
heard on the falling third." 

As the rising third is used for emphasis alone, independently of 
its interrogative import, so the falling third may be employed with- 
out expressing surprise or command, merely for varying the effect 
of intonation. 

Examples. 

*< Lords and Commons of England ! consider what nation it is 
whereof ye are, and whereof ye are the governors ; a nation not 
slow and dull, but of a quick, ingenious and piercing spirit ; acute 



184 ELOCUTION". 

to invent, subtile and sinewy to discourse, not beneath the reach 
of any point that human capacity can soar to. . . . Methinks I see in 
my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong 
man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks ; methinks I see 
her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her un- 
dazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam ; purging and unsealing her 
long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance ; 
while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those 
also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means." 
— Areopagitica. — Milton. 

"People do not see the strange things which pass them every 
day. ' The romance of real life ' is only one to the romantic spirit. 
And then they set up for critics instead of pupils ; as if the artist's 
business was not just to see what they cannot see — to open their 
eyes to the harmonies and the discords, the miracles and the ab- 
surdities, which seem to them one uniform gray fog of common- 
places." — Kingsley. 

**No man can learn what he has not preparation for learning, 
however near to his eyes is the object. A chemist may tell his 
most precious secrets to a carpenter, and he shall be never the 
wiser, — the secrets he would not utter to a chemist for an estate. 
God screens us evermore from premature ideas. Our eyes are 
holden that we cannot see things that stare us in the face, until the 
hour arrives when the mind is ripened ; then we behold them, and 
the time when we saw them not is like a dream. . . . 

There are graces in the demeanor of a polished and noble per- 
son that are lost upon the eye of a churl. These are like the stars 
whose light has not yet reached us." — Emerson. 

"Live while you live, the epicure would say. 
And seize the pleasures of the present day. 
Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, 
And give to God each moment as it flies. 
Lord, in my views let both united be ; 
I live in pleasure when I live to Thee." — Doddridge. 

" The truth in God's breast 
Lies trace for trace upon ours impressed: 
Though He is so bright and we so dim 
We are made in His image to witness Him ; 
And were no eye in us to tell. 
Instructed by no inner sense. 
The light of Heaven fiom the dark of Hell, 



INFLECTIONS. — DOWNWARD THIRD. 185 

That light would want its evidence, — 

Though Justice, Good and Truth were still 

Divine, if, by some demon's will. 

Hatred and wrong had been proclaimed 

Law through the worlds, and Right misnamed, 

No mere exposition of morality 

Made or in part or in totality. 

Should win you to give it worship, therefore." 

Christmas-Eve. — Robert Browning, 

*<Here 's the garden she walked across, 

Arm in my arm, such a short while since : 
Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss 

Hinders the hinges and makes them wince ! 
She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, 

As back with that murmur the wicket swung ; 
For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, 

To feed and forget it the leaves, among. 

*<This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, 

Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim ; 
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, 

Its soft meandering Spanish name. 
What a name ! was it love, or praise, 

Speech half-asleep, or song half-awake ? 
I must learn Spanish, one of these days, 
Only for that slow sweet name's sake. 

Garden Fancies. — Ibid. 

"The slender acacia would not shake 
One long milk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 

Knowing your promise to me ; 
The lilies and roses were all awake, 
They sighed for the dawn and thee." 

Garden Song, in Maud. — Tennyson. 

'< Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State ! 
Sail on, Union, strong and great! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
16* 



186 ELOCUTION". 

We know what Master laid thy keel, 
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. 
What anvils rang, what hammers heat, 
In what a forge, and what a heat. 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. 

"Fear not each sudden sound and shock ; 
'Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 
'Tis but the flapping of the sail. 
And not a rent made by the gale. 
In spite of rock and tempest roar, "■ 

In spite of false light on the shore. 
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea: 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 
Are all with thee — are all with thee." 

The Building of the Ship. — Longfelloio. 

The Interval of the Second is the basis of the diatonic 
melody; in correct and agreeable elocution, it is more used 
than any other, being appropriate to those parts of dis- 
course which convey the plain thoughts of the speaker, as 
contradistinguished from the feelings and emphatic senti- 
ments which call for wider intervals and other forms of 
expression. 

"The simple rise and fall of the second, and perhaps its wave, when 
used for plain narration, or for the mere statement of an unexcited idea, 
is the only intonated voice of man that does not spring from a passionate, 
or, in some degree, an earnest condition of his mind. If we listen to his 
ignorance, doubt, selfishness, arrogance, and injustice, .we hear the vivid 
forms of vocal expi'ession, proceeding from these and related passions. 
Thus we have the rising intervals of the fifth and octave, for intcrroeatives, 
not of wisdcmi but of envious curiosity; the downward third, fifth, and 
octave, for dogmatic or tyrannical command ; waves for the surprise of 
ignorance, the snarling of ill-humor, and the curling voice, along with the 
curling lip of contempt: the piercing height of pitch for the scream of 
terror; the semitone, for the peevish whine of discontent, and for the 
puling cant of the hypocrite and the knave, who cover, beneath the voice 
of kindness, the designs of their craft. Then listen to him on those rare 
occasions, when he forgets himself and his passions, and has to utter a 
simple idea, or plainly to narrate; and you will hear the second, the least 
obtrusive interval of the scale, in the aimirable harmony of nature, made 
the simple sign of the unexcited sentiment of her wisdom and truth." — 
Rush. 



INFLECTIONS. — INTEEVAL OF THE SECOND. 187 



Examples. 

*'If we were to analyze the philosophy which Coleridge employed 
in his judgment on books, and by which he may be said to have 
made criticism a precious department of literature, — raising it into 
a higher and purer region than was ever approached by the con- 
tracted and shallow dogmatism of the earlier school of critics, — it 
would, I think, he proved that he differed from them in nothing 
more than this, that he cast aside the wilfulness and self-assurance 
of the mere reasoning faculties ; his marvellous powers were wedded 
to a childlike humility and a womanly confidingness, and thus his 
spirit found an avenue, closed to feeble and less docile intellects, 
into the deep places of the souls of mighty poets : his genius as a 
critic rose to its majestic height, not only by its inborn manly 
strength, but because, with woman-like faith, it first bowed beneath 
the law of obedience and love." — Henry Reed. 

"Our purity of taste is best tested by its universality, for if we 
can only admire this thing or that, we may be sure that our cause 
for liking is of a finite or false nature. But if we can perceive 
•beauty in everything of God's doing, we may agree that we have 
reached the true perception of its universal laws. Hence false taste 
may be known by its fastidiousness, by its demands of pomp, splen- 
dor, and unusual combination, by its enjoyment only of particular 
styles and modes of things, and by its pride also, for it is forever 
meddling, mending, accumulating, and self-exalting; its eye is 
always upon itself, and it tests all things around it by the way they 
fit it. But true taste is forever growing, learning, reading, wor- 
shipping, laying its hand upon its mouth because it is astonished, 
casting its shoes from off its feet because it finds all ground holy, 
lamenting over itself, and testing itself by the way it fits things." — 
Ruskin. 

"A picture, however admirable the painter's art, and wonderful 
his power, requires of the spectator a surrender of himself, in due 
proportion with the miracle which has been wrought. Let the can- 
vas glow as it may, you must look with the eye of faith, or its high- 
est excellence escapes you. There is always the necessity of help- 
ing out the painter's art with 'your own resources of sensibility and 
imagination. Not that these qualities really add anything to what 
the master has effected ; but they must be put so entirely under his 
control, and work along with him to such an extent, that, in a dif- 
ferent mood, when you are cold and critical, instead of sympathetic, 



188 ELOCUTION. 

you will be apt to fancy that the loftier merits of the picture were 
of your own dreaming, not of his creating." — Haivthorne. 

" Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must 
carry it with us, or we find it not. The best of beauty is a finer 
charm than skill in surfaces, in outlines, in rules of art can ever 
teach, namely, a radiation from the work of art of human charac- 
ter, — a wonderful expression through stone, or canvas, or musical 
sound, of the deepest and simplest attributes of our nature, and 
therefore most intelligible at last to those souls which have these 
attributes." — Emerson. 

"No man knows the highest goodness who does not feel beauty. 
The beauty of holiness is its highest object. To act right because 
it is beautiful, and because noble, true, self-denying, pure acts com- 
mend themselves to a soul attuned to harmonyj is the highest kind 
of goodness. To see the King^n his beauty is the loftiest and most 
unearthly attainment. Can any one be keenly alive to this who has 
no heart for external beauty ? Surely he who is callous to form 
and color, and unmoved by visible beauty, is not above, but below 
our nature ; he may be good, but not in the highest idea of good- 
ness." — Robertson. • 

" There is a natural affinity between goodness and the cultivation 
of the Beautiful, when it is real cultivation, and not a mere unguided 
instinct. He who has learned what beauty is, if he be of a virtuous 
character, will desire to realize -it in his own life — will keep before 
him a type of perfect beauty in human character, to light his 
attempts at self-culture. There is a true meaning in the saying of 
Goethe, though liable to be misunderstood and perverted, that the 
Beautiful is greater than the Good; for it includes the Good, and 
adds something to it: it is the Good made perfect, and fitted with 
all the collateral perfections which make it a finished and completed 
thing. . . . Art, when really cultivated, and not merely practised 
empirically, maintains, what it first gave the conception of, an ideal 
Beauty, to be eternally aimed at, though surpassing what can be 
actually attained ; and by this idea it trains us never to be com- 
pletely satisfied with imperfection in what we ourselves do and are : 
to idealize, as much as possible, every work we do, and most of all, 
our own characters and lives." — John Stuart Mill. 

The Wave, according to its forms, expresses, sorrow, ad- 
miration, surprise, interrogation, mirthful wonder, con- 
tempt, scorn, &c. 



INFLECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 189 

In sejnitonic melody it is used in the expression of sov' 
row, vexaiion, chagrin, contrition, impatience, pity, love, 
supplication, fatigue, pain, &c. 

In the double form, the wave denotes mockery, petu- 
lance, contempt, sorrow, &c. 

It is emphatically used on long quantities requiring 
these sentiments. 

Examples. 

*' Go to your darling people, then ; for soon 
If I mistake not, 't will be needful ; try 
Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them 
Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause. 
If I forbid them." — Warwick to Edward. — Franklin. 

<'But lo ! the Earl is mercifully minded ! 
And surely if we, rather than revenge 
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, 
And fall upon our knees, and say we 've sinned, 
Then will my lord the Earl have mercy on us, 
And pardon us our letch for liberty ! " 

Philip Van Artevelde. — Tat/lor. 

"A most wise question that! 
Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him — 
Or his hand steal — or the finger of his hand 
Beckon, or point, or shut, or open for him? 
To ask him if she '11 swear ! Will she walk or run. 
Sing, dance, or wag her head ; do anything 
That is most easy done? She'll as soon swear! 
What mockery it is to have one's life 
In jeopardy by such a bare-faced trick! 
Is it to be endured ? I do protest 
Against her oath 1 " — Virginius. — Sheridan Knowlea. 

*' I weep for Adonais — he is dead I 
0, weep for Adonais I though our tears 
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head ! 
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years 
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, 
And teach them thine own sorrow : say, ' With me 



190 ELOCUTION. 

Died Adonais ; till the Future dares 
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be * 
An echo and a light unto eternity ! ' 

"Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, 
When thy son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies 
In darkness ? where was lorn Urania 
When Adonais died ? With veiled eyes, 
'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise 
She sat, while one, with soft enamored breath, 
Rekindled all the fading melodies. 
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, 
He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death." 

Adonais. — Shelley. 

" Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more ; 
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor : 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves ; 
Where, other groves and other streams along. 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, 
In the bless'd kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain him all the saints above. 
In solemn troops, and sweet societies, 
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more : 
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood." 

Lycidas. — Milton, 



SELECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 191 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — THE WAVE IN HUMOROUS SELECTIONS. 

THE REFORM BILL. Sijdney Smith. 

I have spoken so often on this subject, that I am sure both you 
and the gentlemen here present will be obliged to me for saying 
but little, and that favor I am as willing to confer as you can be to 
receive it. I feel most deeply the event which has taken place, 
because, by putting the two houses of parliament in collision with 
each other, it will impede the public business and diminish the 
public prosperity. I feel it as a churchman, because I cannot but 
blush to see so many dignitaries of the church arrayed against the 
wishes and happiness of the people. I feel it more than all, 
because I believe it will sow the seeds of deadly hatred between 
the aristocracy and the great mass of the people. 

The loss of the bill I do not feel, and for the best of all possible 
reasons — because I have not the slightest idea that it is lost. I 
have no more doubt before the expiration of the winter, that this 
bill will pass, than I have that the annual tax bills will pass, and 
greater certainty than this no man can have, for Franklin tells us 
there are but two things certain in this world — death and taxes. 

As for the possibility of the house of lords preventing, ere long, 
a reform of parliament, I hold it to be the most absurd notion that 
ever entered into human imagination. I do not mean to be dis- 
respectful, but the attempt of the lords to stop the progress of 
reform, reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth, 
and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that 
occasion. 

In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that town — 
the tide rose to an incredible height — the waves rushed in upon 
the houses, and everything w'as threatened with destruction. In 
the midst of this sublime and terrible storm. Dame Partington who 
lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house, with mop 
and feathers, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea water, and 
vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was 
roused. Mrs. Partington's spirit was up ; but I need not tell you 
that the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. 
Partington. She was excellent at a slop, or a puddle, but she 
should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your 
ease — be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington. 



192 ELOCUTION, 



THE ART OF BOOK KEEPING. Thomas Hood, 

How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their 

books. 
Are snared by anglers, — folks that fish with literary Hooks, — 
Who call and take some favorite tome, but never read it through ; — 
They thus complete their set at home, by making one at you. 

I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken; 
Of " Lamb " I've but a quarter left, nor could I save my " Bacon ; " 
And then I saw my "Crabbe," at last, like Hamlet, backward go; 
And, as the tide was ebbing fast, of course I lost my " Rowe." 

My "Mallet" served to knock me down, which makes me thus a 

talker ; 
And once, when I was out of town, my "Johnson" proved a 

"Walker.' 
While studying, o'er the fire, one day, my "Hobbes," amidst the 

smoke, 
They bore my " Colman" clean away, and carried off my "Coke." 

They picked my "Locke," to me far more than Bramah's patent 

worth, — ■ 
And now my losses I deplore, without a "Home" on earth. 
If once a book you let them lift, another they conceal. 
For though I caught them stealing " Swift," as swiftly went my 

"Steele." 

" Hope" is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated; 
But what is strange, my "Pope" himself is excommunicated. 
My little " Suckling " in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage ; 
And what was Crusoe's fate to save, 'twas mine to lose, — a 
" Savage." 

Even " Glover's " works I cannot put my frozen hands upon ; 
Though ever since I lost my "Foote," my "Bunyan" has been 

gone. 
My "Hoyle" with "Cotton" went oppressed; my "Taylor," too 

must fail ; 
To save my " Goldsmith " from arrest, in vain I offered "Bayle." 

I "Prior" sought, but could not see the " Hood " so late in front ; 
And when I turned to hunt for "Lee," 0! where was my "Leigh 
Hunt"? 



SELECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 198 

I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not "Tickle" 

touch ; 

And then, alack! I missed my "Mickle," — and surely Mickle's 

much. 

'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse, 

To think I cannot read my '^ Reid," nor even use my " Hughes" ; 

My classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped ; 

Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my "Livy " has eloped. 

My life is ebbing fast away ; I suffer from these shocks, 
And though I fix a lock on " Gray," there 's gray upon my locks ; 
I'm far from " Young," am growing pale, I see my " Butler" fly ; 
And when they ask about my ail, 'tis "Burton" I reply. 

They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs 

divide ; 
For ! they cured me of my " Burns," and eased my "Akenside." 
But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn. 
For, as they never found me " Gay," they have not left me " Sterne." 

CONTENTMENT. Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

*' Man wants but little here below." 

Little I ask ; my wants are few ; 

I only wish a hut of stone, 
(A very plain brown stone will do,) 

That I may call my own ; — 
And close at hand is such a one. 
In yonder street that fronts the sun. 

Plain food is quite enough for me ; 

Three courses are as good as ten ; — 
If Nature can subsist on three, 

Thank Heaven for three. Amen ! 
I always thought cold victual nice ; — 
My choice would be vanilla-ice. 

I care not much for gold or land ; — 
Give me a mortgage here and there, — 

Some good bank stock, — some note of hand, 
Or tiifling railroad share, — 

I only ask that Fortune send 

A little more than I shall spend 

17 N 



194 ELOCUTION". 

Honors are silly toys, I know, 
And titles are but empty names ; 

I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, — 
But only near St. James; 

I 'm very sure I would not care 

To fill our Gubernator's chair. 

Jewels are bawbles ; 't is a sin 

To care for such unfruitful things ; — . 

One good-sized diamond in a pin, — 
Some, not so large, in rings, — 

A ruby and a pearl, or so 

Will do for me ; — I laugh at show. 

My dame should dress in cheap attire ; 

(Good, heavy silks are never dear ;) — 
I own perhaps I jniffht desire 

Some shawls of true Cashmere, — 
Some marrowy crapes of China silk, 
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. 

I would not have the horse I drive 
So fast that folks must stop and stare ; 

An easy gait — two, forty-five — 
Suits me ; I do not care ; — 

Perhaps, for just a sinffle spurty 

Some seconds less would do no hurt. 

Of pictures, I should like to own 

Titians and Raphaels three or four, — 

I love so much their style and tone, — 
One Turner, and no more, 

(A landscape, — foreground golden dirt, — 

The sunshine painted with a squirt.) 

Of books but few, — some fifty score 
For daily use, and bound for wear ; 

The rest upon an upper floor ; — 
Some little luxury tliere 

Of red morocco's gilded gleam, 

And vellum rich as country cream. 

Busts, cameos, gems, — such things as these, 
Which others often show for pride, 



SELECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 195 

/value for their power to please, 

And selfish churls deride ; — ■ 
One Stradivarius, I confess, 
Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess. 

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn, 

Nor ape the glittering upstart fool ; — 
Shall not carved tables serve my turn, 

But all must be of buhl ? 
Give grasping pomp its double share, — 
I ask but one recumbent chair. 

Thus humble let me live and die. 

Nor long for Midas' golden touch ; 
If Heaven more generous gifts deny, 

I shall not miss them much, — 
Too grateful for the blessing lent 
Of simple tastes and mind content! 

MISS KILMANSEGG'S EDUCATION. Hood. 

According to metaphysical creed, 

To the earliest books that children read 

For much good or much bad they are debtors — 
But before with their ABC they start, 
There are things in morals, as well as art, 
That play a very important part — 
" Impressions before the letters." 

Dame Education begins the pile, 
Mayhap in the graceful Corinthian style. 

But alas for the elevation ! 
If the Lady's maid or Gossip the Nurse 
With a load of rubbish, or something worse, 

Have made a rotten foundation. 

Even thus with little Miss Kilmansegg, 
Before she learnt her E for egg, 

Ere her Governess came, or her masters — 
Teachers of quite a different kind 
Had " cramm'd" her beforehand, and put her mind 

In a go-cart on golden castors. 

Long before her A B and C, 

They had taught her by heart her L. S. D. 



196 ELOCUTION. 

And how she was born a great Heiress ; 
And as sure as London is built of bricks, 
My Lord would ask her the day to fix, 
To ride in a fine gilt coach and six, 

Like Her Worship the Lady May-ress. 

Instead of stories from Edge worth's page, 
The true golden lore for our golden age. 

Or lessons from Barbauld or Trimmer, 
Teaching the worth of Virtue and Health, 
All that she knew was the Virtue of Wealth, 
Provided by vulgar nursery stealth 

With a book of Leaf Gold for a Primer. 

The very metal of merit they told, 

And praised her for being as " good as gold ! " 

Till she grew as a peacock haughty ; 
Of money they talk'd the whole day round, 
And weigh'd dessert like grapes by the pound. 
Till she had an idea from the very sound 

That people with nought were naughty. 



They praised her falls, as well as her walk, 

Flatterers make cream cheese of chalk, 

They praised — how they praised — her very small talk, 

As if it fell from a Solon ; 
Or the girl who at each pretty phrase let drop 
A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop. 

Or an emerald semi-colon. 

They praised her spirit, and now and then. 
The Nurse brought her own little "nevy" Ben, 

To play with the future May'ress, 
And when he got raps, and taps, and slaps, 
Scratches, and pinches, snips, and snaps, 

As if from a Tigress or Bearess, 
They told him how Lords would court that hand, 
And always gave him to understand, 

While he rubb'd, poor soul, 

His carroty poll, 
That his hair had been pull'd by "a Rairess.^^ 

Such were the lessons from maid and nurse, 
A Governess help'd to make still worse. 
Giving an appetite so perverse 



ILLUSTEATIONS. — THE WAVE. 197 

Fresh, diet whereon to batten — 
Beginning with A B C to hold 
Like a royal playbill printed in gold 

On a square of pearl-white satin. 

The books to teach the verbs and nouns, 
And those about countries, cities, and towns, 
Instead of their sober drabs and browns, 

Were in crimson silk, with gilt edges ; — 
Her Butler, and Enfield, and Entick — in short 
Her " Early. Lessons " of every sort, 

Look'd like Souvenirs, Keepsakes, and Pledges. 

Old Johnson shone out in as fine array 

As he did one night when he went to the play ; 

Chambaud like a beau of King Charles's day — 

Lindley Murray in like conditions — 
Each weary, unwelcome, irksome task, 
Appear'd in a fancy dress and a mask — 
If you wish for similar copies ask 

For Howell and James's Editions. 

Novels she read to amuse her mind. 

But always the afiiuent, match-making kind 

That ends with Fromessi Sposi, . 
And a father-in-law so wealthy and grand 
He could give cheque-mate to Coutts in the Strand; 

So, along with a ring and posy. 
He endows the Bride with Golconda off hand, 

And gives the Groom Potosi. 

Plays she perused — but she liked the best 
Those comedy gentlefolks always possess'd 

Of fortunes so truly romantic — 
Of money so ready that right or wrong 
It always is ready to go for a song, 
Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong — 
They ought to have purses as green and long 

As the cucumber call'd the Gigantic. 

Then Eastern Tales she loved for the sake 
Of the purse of Oriental make, 

And the thousand pieces they put in it — 
But Pastoral Scenes on her heart fell cold, 
17^ 



198 ELOCUTIO:^. 

For Nature witli her had lost its hold 
No field but the Field of the Cloth of Gold 
Would ever have caught her foot in it. 

What more ? she learnt to sing, and dance, 
To sit on a horse, although he should prance, 
And to speak a French not spoken in France 

Any more than at Babel's building — 
And she painted shells, and flowers, and Turks, 
But her great delight was in Fancy Works 

That are done with gold or gilding. 

Gold ! still gold ! — the bright and the dead, 
With golden beads, and gold lace, and gold thread 
She work'd in gold, as if for her bread ; 

The metal had so undermined her. 
Gold ran in her thoughts and fill'd her brain. 
She was golden-headed as Peter's cane 

With which he walk'd behind her. 

THE PROUD MISS MAC BRIDE. 

A Legend of Gotham. — John G. Saxe, 

0, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, 
The very personification of Pride, 
As she minced along in Fashion's tide, 
Adown Broadway, — on the proper side, — 

When the golden sun was setting; 
There was pride in the head she carried so high, 
Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye, 
And a world of pride in the very sigh 

That her stately bosom was fretting ; — ■ 

A sigh that a pair of elegant feet. 
Sandaled in satin, should kiss the street, — 
The very same that the vulgar greet 
In common leather not over-" neat," — 

For such is the common booting ; 
(And Christian tears may well be shed. 
That even among our gentlemen bred, 
The glorious day of Morocco is dead, 
And Day and Martin are reigning instead, 

On a much inferior footing !) 

0, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, 
Proud of her beauty, and proud of her pride. 



SELECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 199 

And proud of fifty matters beside 

That would n't have borne dissection. 

Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk, 

Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk, 

Proud of " knowing cheese from chalk," 
On a very slight inspection ! 

Proud abroad, and proud at home. 

Proud wherever she chanced to come, 

When she was glad, and when she was glum ; 

Proud as the head of a Saracen 
Over the door of a tippling-shop ! — 
Proud as a duchess, proud as a fop, 
"Proud as a boy with a bran-new top,'* 

Proud beyond comparison ! 

It seems a singular thing to say. 
But her very senses led her astray 

Respecting all humility ; 
In sooth, her dull auricular drum 
Could find in Humble only a "hum," 
And heard no sound of "gentle" come, 

In talking about gentility. 

What Lowly meant she did n't know. 

For she always avoided " every thing low," 

With a care the most punctilious. 
And queerer still, the audible sound 
Of " super-silly" she never had found 

In the adjective supercilious! 

The meaning of 3Ieek she never knew, 
But imagined the phrase had something to do 
With " Moses," — a peddling Grerman Jew, 
Who, like all hawkers, the country through, 

Was a person of no position; 
And it seemed to her exceedingly plain, 
If the word was really known to pertain 
To a vulgar German, it was n't germane 

To a lady of high condition ! 

Even her. graces,^ not her grace, — 
For that was in the " vocative case," — 
Chilled with the touch of her icy face, 



200 ELOCUTION. 

Sat yery stiffly upon her ! 
She never confessed a favor aloud, 
Like one of the simple, common crowd, — 
But coldly smiled, and faintly bowed. 
As who should say : *' You do me proud, 

And do yourself an honor ! " 

And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, 
Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, 

Had really no foundation ; 
But like the fabrics that gossips devise, 
Those single stories that often arise 
And grow till they reach a four-story size, 

Was merely a fancy creation. 

That her wit should never have made her vain, 
Was, like her face, sufficiently plain ; 

And as to her musical powers, 
Although she sang until she was hoarse. 
And issued notes with a Banker's force. 
They were just such notes as we never indorse 

For any acquaintance of ours ! 

Her birth indeed was uncommonly high, — 
For Miss MacBride first opened her eye 
Thro' a sky -light dim, on the light of the sky; 

But pride is a curious passion, — 
And in talking about her wealth and worth, 
She always forgot to mention her birth, 

To people Of rank and fashion ! 

Of all the notable things on earth, 
The queerest one is pride of birth. 

Among our "fierce Democracie ! " 
A bridge across a hundred years. 
Without a prop to save it from sneers, — 
Nor even a couple of rotten Peers, — 
A thing for laughter, fleers and jeers, 

Is American aristocracy ! 

English and Irish, French and Spanish, 
German, Italian, Dutch and Danish, 
Crossing their veins until they vanish 
In one conglomeration ! 



SELECTION'S. — THE WAVE. 201 

So subtle a tangle of Blood, indeed, 
No heraldry-Harvey will ever succeed 
In finding a circulation ! 

Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, 
Four family thread you can't ascend, 
Without good reason to apprehend 
You may find it waxed at the farther end 

By some plebeian vocation ! 
Or, worse than that, your boasted Line 
May end in a loop of stronger twine, 

That plagued some worthy relation ! 

But Miss MacBride had something beside 
Her lofty birth, to nourish her pride,— 
For rich was the old paternal MacBride, 

According to public rumor ; 
And he lived " up town," in a splendid Square, 
And kept his daughter On dainty fare. 
And gave her gems that were rich and rare, 
And the finest rings and things to wear, 

And feathers enough to plume her ! 

An honest mechanic was John MacBride, 
As ever an honest calling plied, 

Or graced an honest ditty ; 
For John had worked in his early day, 
In "Pots and Pearls," the legends say, 
And kept a shop with a rich array 
Of things in the soap and candle way, 

In the lower part of the city. 

No ra7-a avis was honest John, 
(That's the Latin for "sable swan,") 

Though in one of his fancy flashes, 
A wicked wag, who meant to deride, 
Called honest John "Old Phoenix MacBride," 
"Because he rose from his Ashes ! " 

Little by little he grew to be rich. 

By saving of candle-ends and "sich," 

Till he reached, at last, an opulent niche, — 

No very uncommon affair ; 
For history quite confirms the law 



202 ELOCUTION. 

Expressed in the ancient Scottish saw, 
"A Mickle may come to Tbe May'r! '* 

Alack ! for many ambitious beaux ! 
She hung their hopes upon her nose, — 

(The figure is quite Horatian !) 
Until from habit the member grew 
As queer a thing as ever you knew 

Turn up to observation ! 

A thriving tailor begged her hand, 

But she gave "the fellow" to understand. 

By a violent manual action. 
She perfectly scorned the best of his clan, 
And reckoned the ninth of any man 

An exceedingly Vulgar Fraction! 

Another, whose sign was a golden boot. 
Was mortified with a bootless suit, 

In a way that was quite appalling : 
For though a regular suitor by trade, 
He was n't a suitor to suit the maid, 
Who cut him off with a saw, — and bade 
" The cobbler keep to his calling." 

(The Muse must let a secret out, — 
There is n't the faintest shadow of doubt, • 
That folks who oftenest sneer and flout 

At "the dirty low mechanicals," 
Are they whose sires, by pounding their knees, 
Or coiling their legs, or trades like these. 
Contrived to win their children ease 

From poverty's galling manacles.) 

A rich tobacconist comes and sues, 
And, thinking the lady would scarce refuse 
A man of his wealth and liberal views, — 
Began, at once, with "If you choose, — 

And could you really love him — " 
But the lady spoiled his speech in a huff, 
With an answer rough and ready enough, 
To let him know she was up to snuff, 

And altogether above him. 



SELECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 203 

A young attorney of winning grace, 
Was scarce allowed to "open his face," 
Ere Miss MacBride had closed his case 

With true judicial celerity ; 
For the lawyer was poor, and "seedy" to boot, 
And to say the lady discarded his suit. 

Is merely a double verity. 

The last of those who came to court 
Was a lively beau of the dapper sort, 
'Without any visible means of support," 

A crime by no means flagrant 
In one who wears an elegant coat. 
But the very point on which they vote 
A ragged fellow "a vagrant." 

A courtly fellow was Dapper Jim, 
Sleek and supple, and tall and trim, 
And smooth of tongue as neat of limb ; 

And maugre his meagre pocket. 
You 'd say, from the glittering tales he told, 
That Jim had slept in a cradle of gold. 

With Fortunatus to rock it! 

Now Dapper Jim his courtship plied, 

(I wish the fact could be denied,) 

With an eye to the purse of the Old MacBride, 

And really "nothing shorter!" 
For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, 
"Whenever he dies, — as die he must, — 
And yields to Heaven his vital trust. 
He 's very sure to ' come down with his dust,* 

In behalf of his only daughter." 

And the very magnificent Miss MacBride, 
Half in love and half in pride. 

Quite graciously relented ; 
And tossing her head, and turning her back. 
No token of proper pride to lack, — 
To be a Bride without the '.' Mac," 

With much disdain, consented ! 

Alas ! that people who've got their box 
Of cash beneath the best of locks, 



204 ELOCUTION. 

Secure from all financial shocks, 

Should stock their fancy with fancy stocks, 

And madly rush upon "Wall-street rocks," 

Without the least apology! 
Alas ! that people whose money affairs 
Are sound beyond all need of repairs, 
Should ever tempt the bulls and bears 

Of Mammon's fierce Zoology ! 

Old John MacBride, one fatal day, 
Became the unresisting prey 

Of Fortune's undertakers ; 
And staking his all on a single die, 
His foundered bark went high and dry 

Among the brokers and breakers! 

At his trade again in the very shop 
Where, years before, he let it drop. 

He follows his ancient calling, — 
Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite, 
And sleeping quite as sound at night, 
As Avhen at fortune's giddy height, 
He used to wake Avith a dizzy fright 

From a dismal dream of falling. 

But alas ! for the haughty Miss MacBride ! 
'Twas such a shock to her precious pride ! 
She couldn't recover, although she tried 

Her jaded -spirits to rally; 
'Twas a dreadful change in human affairs, 
From a Place " Up Town," to a nook " Up Stairs," 

From an Avenue down to an Alley ! 

Twas little condolence she had, I wot, 
From her "troops of friends," who hadn't forgot 

The airs she used to borrow ; 
They had civil phrases enough, but yet 
'Twas plain to see that their "deepest regret" 

Was a different thing from Sorrow ! 

They owned it couldn't have well been worse, 
To go from a full to an empty purse, 
To expect a reversion, and get a "reverse " 
Was truly a dismal feature ; 



SELECTIONS. — THE WAVE. 205 

But it was n't strange, — they whispered, — at all; 
That the Summer of pride should have its Fall, 
Was quite according to Nature! 

And some of those chaps who make a pun, 
As if it were quite legitimate fun 
To be blazing away at every one, 
With a regular double-loaded gun, — 

Remarked that moral transgression 
Always brings retributive stings 
•To candle-makers, as well as kings; 
And making light of cereous things, 
Was a very wicked profession ! 

And vulgar people, the saucy churls. 
Inquired about "the price of Pearls," 

And mocked at her situation ; 
"She was n't ruined, — they ventured to hope, — 
Because she was poor, she needn't mope, — 
Few people were better off for soap. 

And that was a consolation! " 

And to make her cup of woe run over, 
Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover. 

Was the very first to forsake her ; 
*• He quite regretted the step, 'twas true, — 
The lady had pride enough 'for two,' 
But that alone would never do 

To quiet the butcher and baker ! " 

And now the unhappy Miss MacBride, 
The merest ghost of her early pride, 

Bewails her lonely position ; 
Cramped in the very narrowest niche. 
Above the poor, and below the rich, . 

Was ever a worse condition ? 

Moral. 

Because you flourish in worldly affairs. 
Don't be haughty, and put on airs. 

With insolent pride of station ! 
Don't be pi oud, and turn up your nose 
At poorer peoplft in plainer clo'es, 
18 



206 ELOCUTION. 

But learn, for the sake of your soul's repose, 
That wealth's a bubble, that comes — and goes! 
And that all Proud Flesh, wherever it grows, 
Is subject to irritation! 

INFLECTIONS, Continued. 

The two great principles regulating the use of the 
falling inflection are force and completeness of expression. 

So far as the rising inflection is addressed to the under- 
standing, the circumstance of incompleteness or expecta- 
tion is the governing principle determining its use. Feel- 
ing and harmony give significance to all other rules for its 
application. 

A simple affirmafive sentence, or member of a sentence, 
generally closes with the falling inflection ; as, 

"Language is part of a man's character\" — Landor. 
"Nature is conquered by obeying her\" — Bacon. 

A simple negative sentence, or member of a sentence, 
generally closes with the rising inflection ; as, 

" Spirits are not finely touched 
But to fine issues''." — Shakespeare. 

The falling inflection terminates a forcible interroga- 
tion, or any form of question, lohich does not admit of 
being answered by yes or no ; therefore, 

Interrogative sentences beginning with a pronoun or 
adverb, generally close with the falling inflection; as, 

"Who knows not that Truth is strong, next to the Almighty^? 
She needs no policies, nor stratagems, nor licensings, to make her 
victorious. . . . Let Truth and Falsehood grapple : whoever knew 
Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter^ ? " — Milton. 

Forms of speech which excite expectation of farther 
expression, — whether they occur in the form, of question, 
or of incomplete thought, and suspension of sense, — raise 
or suspend the voice by the rising inflection ; therefore — 

Inter i^ogative sentences beginning with a verb generally 
close ivith the rising inflection ; as, 



INFLECTIONS. 207 

*' Would you make men trustworthy?^ Trust them. Would you 
make them true V Believe them. We win by tenderness ; we con- 
quer by forgiveness." — Robertson. 

When the sense of a member is suspended, and depends 
for completion on the succeeding member, the rising 
infection is required ; as, 

" The worst is not, 
So long as we can say,^ This is the worst." — Shakespeare. 

A parenthetical clause generally closes with the same 
inflection as that used in the preceding member {usually, 
the rising) : as, 



''He (the American scholar) must be a perpetual inspiration of 
freedom in politics. He must recognize that the intelligent exercise 
of political rights,'' which is a privilege in a monarchy,^ is a duty 
in a republic." — G. W. Curtis. 

The parenthetical clause, it should be remembered, is generally read in 
a lower tone, and with a quicker movement than the rest of the sentence. 

Contrasted sentences, or words expressing contrasted 
ideas, generally close with contrasted inflections; — the 
more important member {generally the second) requiring 
the falling inflection ; as, 

"He who undertakes to note the defects-' of an art, must carry 
with his censure, a knowledge of its perfections\" — Rush. 

A concession closes with the rising inflection ; as, 

"Every man loves his ease'' — loves to please his taste.'' But 
into how many homes along this lovely valley came the news of 
Lexington and Bunker Hill, eighty years ago — .... If it clash 
with his ease, his retirement, his taste, his study, let it clash, but 
let him do his duty. The course of events is incessant, and when 
the good deed is slighted, the bad deed is done." — Curtis. 

Exceptions to the application of rules for the rising inflection 
occur in cases of peculiar force or emphasis. In such instances, 
the falling inflection supersedes the rising ; as the former is the 
invariable indication of energetic expression, and the rule of force 
displaces every other, in the utterance of thought. 

It will be observed that the inflection \ised at the close of a sentence 
is usually the same as that placed on the principal emphatic wordj the 



208 ELOCUTION". 

former bcine^ made to correspond to the latter, and when differing from 
that required by the preceding rules, forming exceptions to them. 

Exclamatory phrases or sentences generally close with 
the falling inflection ; as, 

"How much have cost us the evils that have never happened^ ! " 
Jefferson. 

"Onward in faith, and leave the rest to Heavenv ! " 

When expressing tender emotion, surprise, interroga- 
tion, the rising inflection may he used ; as, 

"'Tis but the falling of a withered leaf, — 
The breaking of a shell, — 
The rending of a veiK ! " — Souihey. 

Sentences expressing tenderness, weakness, indecision, 
indifference, surprise, uncertainty, implied contrast, Sc, 
close with the rising inflection. 

Sentences expressing positive declaration, determina- 
tion, command, sternness, reproach, defiance, astonish- 
ment, indignation, contempt, &c. — luhefher interrogatively , 
negatively, or affirmatively expressed, close with the falling 
inflection. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Afiirmative Seaitences. 

**A11 high truth is the union of two contradictories." — Robertson. 

" Our doubts are traitors, 
And make us lose the good we oft might win, 
By fearing to attempt." — -Shakespeare. 

** It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of 
the want of courage." — Henry Clay. 

"Lowliness is the base of every virtue. 
And he who goes the lowest builds the safest." — Bailey, 

"A life of prayer is a life whose litanies are ever fresh acts of 
self-devoting love." — Robertson. 

" The beautiful exists only for the sublime essence that seeks it ; 
the infinite exists only for the soul which desires it. If you could 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — INFLECTIONS. 209 

endow the smallest insect with the sense of the beautiful and the 
infinite, this imperceptible atom would comprehend eternity, and 
would see God, and this vision would render it immortal." — L'Aimb 

Martin. 

"Crime and punishment grows out of one stem. Punishment is 
a fruit that, unsuspected, ripens within the flower of the pleasure 
which concealed it." — Emerson. 

" Divine justice upon the earth is always the falfilling of a law: 
God has arranged all, so that from our actions should arise the 
penalties or the rewards which they deserve. Good reacts upon 
good — evil upon evil; The reaction may be more or less speedy, 
more or less visible ; no matter, it exists ; it is equal to the action, 
and if its efi'ects sometimes escape our observation, it is not because 
the law is inactive, it is simply because the last scene of the drama 
takes place in the depths of the conscience, between man and his 
God." — i^'^m^ Martin. 

" Truly we are surrounded with voices. The sacredness and 
awful responsibilities of speech, — the latent importance of idle 
words, — consists in their ever-present existence. No sound that 
goes from the lip into the air can ever die, even in a sensual sense, 
until the atmosphere which wraps our planet in its huge embrace 
has passed into nothingness. Words, then, have a being of their 
own; they exist after death, or rather they continue to exist after 
all memory of them has departed from the minds into which they 
originally entered." — U. P. Whipple. 

" Every man, hoAvever good he may be, has a yet better man 
dwelling within him, which is properly himself, but to whom, 
nevertheless, he is often unfaithful. It is to the interior and less 
mutable being that we should attach ourselves, not to the change^ 
able e very-day man," — Von Humboldt. 

" Trust men, and they will be true to you ; treat them greatly, and 
they will show themselves great though they make an axception 
in your favor to all their rules of trade." — Emerson. 



Negative Sentences. 

" It is not so far as a man doubts, but so far as he believes, that 
he can achieve or perfect anything. 'All things are possible to Mm 
that believeth. ' " — Robertson. 

18* 



210 ELOCUTION". 

"A man cannot speak but lie judges himself. With his will, or 
against his will, he draws his portrait to the eye of his companions 
by every word. Every opinion reacts on him who utters it." — 
Emerson. 

"The mind which does not converse with itself, is an idle 
wanderer : and all the learning in the world is fruitless and misem- 
ployed, whilst in the midst of his boasted knowledge, a man con- 
tinues in profound ignorance of that, which in point both of duty 
and advantage, he is most concei'ned to know." — T. cL Kempis. 

" The danger to individuality, in reading, is noi that we repeat 
an author's opinions or expressions, but that we be magnetized by 
his spirit to the extent of being drawn into his stronger life, and 
losing our particular being. Now, no man is benefited by being 
thus conquered. . . . Indeed, we can never fully realize and 
reverence a great nature, never grow through a reception of his 
spirit, unless we keep our individuality distinct from his." — E. P. 
Whipple. 

" Truth itself will not profit us so long as she is but held in the 
hand, and taken upon trust from other men's minds, not wooed 
and won and wedded by our own." — Locke. 

"I know 
That nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure. 
No plot so narrow, be but nature there. 
No waste so vacant, but may well employ 
Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart 
Awake to love and beauty! " — Coleridge. 

" No stream from its source 
Flows seaward, how lonely soever its course. 
But that some land is gladdened. No star ever rose 
And set, without influence somewhere. AVho knows 
What earth needs from earth's lowest creature ? No life 
Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife 
And all life not be purer and stronger thereby. 
The spirits of just men made perfect on high. 
The army of martyrs who stand by the Throne 
And gaze into the Face that makes glorious their own, 
Know this, surely, at last. Honest love, honest sorrow, 
Honest work for the day, honest hope for the morrow, 
Are these worth nothing more than the hand they make weary 



ILLUSTKATION'S. — INFLECTIONS. 211 

The heai't they have sadden' d, the life they leave dreary ? 
Hush ! the sevenfold heavens to the voice of the spirit 
Echo : He that o'ercometh shall all things inherit." 

Owen Meredith, 



Interrogative Sentences beginning witli a Pronoun or 
Adverb. 

"What is the abstraction of beauty or excellence worth, if it is 
not incorporated into your soul, incarnated, in your life? It is 
worth as much as the gold of California was when hid deep in the 
mine, with the rock binding it, and the river flowing over it, and 
the forest towering above it, — generation after generation passing 
by it, all unsuspected and vain. But, let the abstract idea be 
worked out and extended from its lurking-place through your con- 
duct, and it will be like the ore and sand changed into the currency 
of the nation, bearing enormous business, and inestimable wealth, 
and endless comfort on the bosom of its boundless stream." — C. A, 
Bartol. 

"What constitutes a State? 
Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned ; 

Not bays and broad-armed ports, 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride ; 

Not starred and spangled courts. 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. 

No : — Men, high-minded men. 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude — 

Men who their duties know. 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain." 

Sir Wm. Jones. 

"Why walk in darkness ? Our true light yet shineth, 

It is not night but day ! 
All healing and all peace His light enshrineth. 

Why shun His loving ray ? 
Are night and shadows better, truer, dearer, 

Than day, and joy, and love ? 
Do tremblings and misgivings bring us nearer 



212 ELOCUTION-. 

To the great God of love ? 
Light of the world ! undimming and unsetting, 

0, shine each mist away ! 
Banish the fear, the. falsehood, and the fretting, 

Be our unchanging day ! " — H. Bonar. 

Interrogative Sentences beginning with a Verb. 

<< Is there, then, no death for a word once spoken ? 
Was never a deed but left its token 
Written on tables never broken ? '' ^^Whittier. 

" Be of comfoi-t ! Thou art not alone if thou have Faith. Spake 
we not of a Communion of Saints, unseen, yet not unreal, accompa- 
nying and brother-like embracing theeL, so thou be worthy ? Their 
heroic sufferings rise up melodiously together to Heaven, out of 
all lands, and out of all times, as a sacred 3Iiserere ; their heroic 
actions also, as a boundless, everlasting Psalm of Triumph, 
Neither say that thou hast now no Symbol of the Godlike, Is not 
God's Universe a Symbol of the Godlike ; is not Immensity a 
Temple ; is not Man's History, and Men's History, a perpetual 
Evangel? Listen, and for organ-music thou wilt ever as of old, 
hear the Morning Stars sing together." — Carlyle. 

"I slept and dreamed that Life was Beauty. 
I woke and found that Life was Duty. 
Was my dream then, a shadowy lie ? 
Toil on, sad heart, courageously; 
And thou shalt find thy dream to be, 
A noon-day light and truth to thee ! " 

Suspension of Sense. 

*' In general, every evil to which we do not succumb, is a bene- 
factor. As the Sandwich Islander believes that the strength and 
valor of the enemy he kills passes into himself, so we gain the 
strength of the temptation we resist." — Emerson. 

"Never was a sincere word utterly lost. Never a magnanimity 
fell to the ground, but there is some heart to greet and accept it 
unexpectedly." — Ihid. 

" It has been finely said, 'What a glorious gift God bestows upon 
a nation when he gives them a poet ! ' It might be added, with a 
sadder truth, that, when the poet enters upon his mission of glad- 
dening and purifying and spiritualizing the hearts of men, the 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — INFLECTIOIsTS. 213 

world is ready with the insult, the scoff, the ridicule, and all the 
weapons of a stupid and ignorant enmity. There is a blindness 
blinder than the mole's ; there is a deafness deafer than the adder's : 
it is the blindness, the deafness of literary bigotry ! " — Henry Reed. 

"It is a maxim to which Lamb often gave utterance that the gen- 
ial effect of praise or admiration is robbed of its music, and un- 
tuned, by founding it upon some blame or harsh disparagement of a 
kindred object. If blame be right and called for, then utter it 
boldly ; but do not poison the gracious charities of intellectual love 
and reverence, when settling upon grand objects, by forcing the 
mind into a remembrance of something that cannot be comprehended 
within the same genial feelings." — De Qiiincey. 

Parenthetical Phrases. 

" To my mind, — though I am native here, 
And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
More honor'd in the breach, than the observance." 

Shakespeare. 
"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control. 
These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 
Yet not for power, (power of herself 
Would come uncalled for,) but to live by law, 
Acting the law We live by without fear; 
And because right is right, to follow right, 
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence." — Tennyson. 

"Every want, not of a low kind, physical as well as moral, which 
the human breast feels, and which brutes do not feel and cannot 
feel, raises man by so much in the scale of existence, and is a clear 
proof and a direct instance of the favor of God toward his so much 
favored human offspring. If man had been so made as to desire 
nothing, he would have wanted almost everything worth possess- 
ing." — Webster. 

Contrasted Sentences. 

" Mine honor is my life ; both grow in one ; 
Take honor from me, and my life is done." — Shakespeare. 

" Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the j^ounger day : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." — Tennyson. 

" I have no expectation that any man will read history aright 
who thinks that what was done in a remote age, by men whose 



214 ELOCUTION. 

names have resounded far, lias any deeper sense than what he is 
doing to-day." — R. W. Emerson. 

"Art is never Art till it is more than Art: the Finite exists only 
as the body of the Infinite : the man of genius must first know the 
Infinite, unless he wishes to become not a poet, but a maker of 
idols." — Kingsley. 

"'Who is the greater ?' says the German moralist; 'the wise 
man who lifts himself above the storms of time, and from aloof 
looks down upon theqa, and yet takes no part therein, — or he who 
from the height of quiet and repose throws himself boldly into the 
battle-tumult of the world ? Glorious is it, when the eagle through 
the beating tempest flies into the bright blue heaven upward ; but 
far more glorious, when, poising in the blue sky over the black 
storm-abyss, he plunges downward to his aerie on the cliff, where 
cower his unfledged brood, and tremble.' " — Longfellow. 

Concessions. 

"There is no such thing as forgetting possible to the mind; a 
thousand accidents may and will interpose a veil between our pres- 
ent consciousness and the secret inscriptions on the mind. Acci- 
dents of the same sort will also rend away this veil ; but alike, 
whether veiled or unveiled, the inscrintion remains forever." — 
De Quincey. 

" I cannot think that any man, though he may make himself a 
marvellously clever disputant, ever could tower upwards into a 
very great philosopher, unless he should begin or should end with 
Christianity. 

" My faith is, that, though a great man may, by a rare possibility, 
be an infidel, an intellect of the highest order must build on Chris- 
tianity. A very clever architect may choose to show his power by 
building with insufiicient materials, but the supreme architect must 
require the very best ; because the perfection of the forms cannot 
be shown but in the perfection of the matter." — Ibid. 

"We are wrong always, when we think too much 
Of what we think or are ; albeit our thoughts 
Be verily bitter as self-sacrifice. 
We're no less selfish. If we sleep on rocks 
Or roses, sleeping past the hour of noon 
We 're lazy." — Mrs. Browning. 



ILLUSTKATIONS. — INFLECTIONS. 215 



Exclamatory Sentences. 

*' TMnk that To-day shall never dawn again ! " — Dante. 

"Be sure that God 
Ne'er deems to waste the strength He deigns impart ! " 

Robert Browning, 

" All our less 
Would grow to more, and this our Earth to Heaven, 
Might we hut pierce unto the blessedness 
That lies so near us, might we but possess 
The things that are our own — as they were given ! " 

Dora Greenwell. 

*' What 's hallowed ground ! 'T is what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth, 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All hallow' d ground ! " — Thomas Campbell. 

"Work is Worship ! He that understands this well, understands 
the Prophecy of the whole Future ; the last Evangel, which has in- 
cluded all others. Its cathedral, the Dome of Immensity, — hast 
thou seen it ? coped with the star-galaxies ; paved with the green 
mosaic of land and ocean ; and for altar, verily, the Star throne of 
the Eternal. Its litany and psalmody the noble acts, the heroic 
work and suffering, and true heart utterance of all the Valiant of 
the Sons of men. Its choir-music, the ancient Winds and Oceans, 
and deep-toned, inarticulate, but most speaking voices of Destiny 
and History — supernal ever as of old. Between two great silences : 

' Stars silent rest o'er us, 
Graves under us silent.' 

Between which two great Silences, do not all human Noises, in the 
naturalest time, most preternaturally march and roll? " — Carlyle. 



216 ELOCUTION-. 



Exclamations in the Form of Interrogative Sentences begin- 
ning witli a Pronoun or Adverb. 

"Why sliould I be sad, or lorn of hope? 
Why ever make man's good distinct from God ? 
Or, finding they are one, why dare mistrust ? " 

Robert Browning. 

"What is to be thought of her? What is to be thought of the 
poor shepherd girl from the hills and forests of Lorraine, who rose 
suddenly out of the quiet, out of the safety, out of the religious in- 
spiration of deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the van of armies, 
and to the more perilous station at the right hand of kings ? The 
poor maiden drank not herself from that cup of rest which she had 
secured for France. No ! her voice was then silent. No ! for her 
feet were dust. 

"Pure, innocent, noble-hearted girl! When the thunders of 
universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim the gran- 
deur of her who gave up all for her country, thy ear will have been 
deaf for five centuries. To suffer and to do, that was thy portion 
in this life : to do, — never for thyself, always for others ; to suffer, — 
never in the persons of generous champions, always in thy own, — 
that was thy destiny ; and not for a moment was it hidden from thy- 
self. Life, thou saidst, is short ; let me use that life, so transitory, 
for glorious ends." — De Quincey. 

Exclamations in tbe Form of Interrogative Sentences begin- 
ning witb a Verb. 

"Is not a day coming — yea, unto them who watch for the Morn- 
ing, has it not already dawned ? — when we shall grow so covetous 
of good, of grace, as to turn our swords, too often sharpened against 
each other's bosoms, into ploughshares, to break up the fallow 
ground that lies within and around us ? when we shall beat our 
spears into pruning-hooks to dress the abundant increase of the 
days, when the sower shall overtake the reaper, and the treader of 
grapes him that soweth seed ? " — 3Iiss Greenwell. 

" That which befits us, embosomed in beauty and wonder as we 
are, is cheerfulness and courage, and the endeavor to realize our 
aspirations. The life of man is the true romance, which when it is 
valiantly conducted, will yield the imagination a higher joy than 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — INFLECTIONS. 217 

any fiction. All around ub, what powers are wrapped up under tlie 
coarse mattings of custom, and allwonder prevented. It is so won- 
derful to our neurologists that a man can see without his eyes, that, 
it does not occur to them, that it is just as wonderful that he can see 
with- them'; and that is ever the difference between the wise and the 
unwise : the latter wonders at what is unusual, the wise man won- 
ders at the usual. Shall not the heart which has received so much, 
trust the power by which it lives ? Shall it not quit other leadings 
and listen to the Soul that has guided it so gently, and taught it so 
. much, secure that the future will be worthy of the Past?." — 
Emerson. • ■ " 

Declarations in tlie Form of Negative Sentences.. 

• f'No mere negations, nothing but the. full liberation of the truth 
which lies at the root of error, can eradicate error.''' — Eobertson. 

"No principle is more noble, as there is none more holy,'than 
that of a true obedience. Every being. is excellent, as. it is faithful 
to the law of its existence. It is by this fidelity in the material 
xiniverse, that atom holds atom in solid worlds and in boundless-sys- 
tems. It is by this fidelity in the moral universe, that soul holds to 
soul in the unity of families, and the order of nations. Subvert this 
fidelity, and where would be beauty ? Where even would be exist- 
ence ? Physical or moral anarchy must soon reach its own extinc- 
tion, in'the restoration of. order, or the annihilation of the world. 
Th.ere would, without obedience, be' no kindred to create a home ; 
no law to create a state ; there would be no conscience to inspire 
right; no faith to apprehend religion; humanity, there could be 
none, nor even the earth to supply it with. a dwelling." — Giles. 

"Not a difiiculty but can .transfigure itself into a triumph ; not 
even a deformity but, if our soul have imprinted worth on it, will 
grow dear to us." — Emerson. 

'■'Can r think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? 
No — she never loved me truly : love is love forevermore." 

Tennyson. 

" There is no loss but change, no death but sin, 
No parting, save the slow corrupting pain 
Of murdered faith that never lives again." 

3Iiss Muloch. 
19 . ■ 



1218 ELOCUTION. 

"There is no punishment equal to the punishment of being base. 
To sink from sin to sin, from infamy to infamy, that is the fearful 
retribution which is executed in the spiritual world. You are safe, 
go where you Will, from the viper : as safe as if you were the 
holiest of God's children. The fang is in your own soul." — Rob- 
ertson. 

SEKIES! 

A Series is a list of particulars expressed by simple 
words, or parts of sentences following each other in regu- 
lar succession ; as, 

" To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue ; 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light. 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess." — Shakespeare. 

A Simple Series is a list of particulars expressed by 
single words, following each other in regular succession ; 
as, . 

"Knowledge, truth, love, beauty, goodness, faith' alone give 
vitality to the mechanism of existence." — James Martineau. 

A Compound Series is a list of ideas expressed by 
phrases, or parts of sentences following each other in sim- 
ilar succession ; as, 

" The laugh of mirth that vibrates through the heart, the tears 
that freshen the dry wastes within, the music that brings childhood 
back, the prayer that calls the future near, the doubt which makes 
us meditate, the death which startles us with mystery, the hardship 
which forces us to struggle, the anxiety that ends in trust,— are the 
true nourishments of our natural. being." — Martineau. 

A Series of Series is a list of series, or, it is the recurr 
rence of ideas expressed by phrases or clauses, which in 
themselves contain a series ; as, 

"To eat and drink and sleep ; to be exposed to the darkness and 
the light; to pace round in the mill of habit, and turn the wheel 



SEBIES. 219 

of wealth; to make reason our book-keeper, and turn thought into 
an implement of trade, — this is not life." — Martineau. 

A Gomineiicing Series is one in which the sense is 
merely commenced, or left incomplete at every word or 
clause, — the whole being introductory to a following 
clause ; as, • . . 

"The painful service, 
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
But with that surname." — Shakespeare. 

A Concluding Series is one which is so formed that 
each of its members concludes a distinct portion of the 
sense, — so that the sentence might terminate at any of 
these members, without leaving the .impression of an 
imperfect idea or an unfinished sentence ; as, 

" The poet in a golden clime was born, 
• With golden stars above ;. ■ 

Dowered-with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, 
The love of love." — Tennyson. 

In a commencing • series, the last member generally 
closes with the rising inflection, and the others with the 
falling. . • 

In a concluding series, the next to the last generally' 
closing with the rising, and the others with the falling 
inflection. • ' 

The inflections applied to the difi^erent members of a series are 
termed inflections of taste. In forcible enunciation,, each member 
closes with the falling ijiflection, but in narrative and poetie styles, 
the rising is frequently employed. 

A series, when written in the form of a climax, should be read 
with gradually increasing force and earnestness until the last 
member, which being the most important, should, receive most 
stress. 



220 ELOCUTION. 

ILLTJSTEATIONS. 

Coimnenciiig Series. 

"If truth, and faith, and honor, and justice, have fled from. every 
other part of our country, we shall find thein here. If not, our 
sun has gone-down in treachery, blood, and crime, in the face of the 
world; and, instead of being proud of our country, as heretofore, 
we may well call upon the rocks and mountains to hide our shame 
from earth and from heaven." 

An Appeal fob the Cherokee Nation. — Wm. Wirt. 

" Our own selfishness, our own neglect, our own passions, and our 
own vices, will furnish tlie elements of our destruction. With our 
own hands we shall tear down the stately edifice of our glory. We 
shall die by self-inflicted wounds." 

The Duties of Americans. — ; G. S. Hillard. 

'After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; 
Treason has done his worst': nor steel, nor poison, 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
Can touch him further ! " — llacbeth. 

"To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ; 
Though round, its breast the rolling clouds are spread^ 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

The Deserted Village. — Goldsmith. 

Concludiiig Series. 

"Now I am cabin' d, cribb'd, cbnfin'd, bound in 
To saucy doubts and fears."': — Shakespeare. 

. "Strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." 

Ulysses. — Tennyson. 
■"Aland of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
-Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth." • . .. 

Home, — Montg-bmery. 
"When men are yightly occupied, their amusement grows out of 
their work, as the color-petals out of a fruitful flower ; — when 
they are faithfully helpful and compassionate, all their emotions 
become steady, ' deep, perpetual, and vivifying to the soul as the 
natural pulse to the body." — Ruskin. 



SERIES. 221 

Series of Series. 

" Of Law, there can be no less acknowledged than that her seat is 
the bosom of God ; her "voice the harmony of the world. All things- 
in heaven and earth. do her homage ; the very least as- feeling'^her 
care,, and the greatest as not exempted • from her pow6r ; — both 
angels and men, and creatures of what condition soever, though 
each jn different sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent, 
admiring her as the mother of their peace and ^oj.'"— Hooker. 

" Holy intention is to the actions of a fnan that which the soul is 
to the body, or form to its matter, or the root to its tree, or the sun 
to the world,- or the fountain to a river, or the baseto a pillar ; for 
without these, the body is a dead trunk, the matter is Sluggish, the 
tree is a block, the river is quickly dry, and the pillar rushes into 
flatness or ruin, and the action is sinful, or unprofitable, or vain." — 
Jeremy Taylor. 

"A. crowd. of spirits from the realm of the deathless come throngs . 
ing around us ; — from the battle-field, where Liberty went down 
under the'brutal hoofs of. Power, its immortal image trampled in 
the dust, — -from the legislative hall, where, amid the collision of 
adverse intellects, the orator poured his torrents of fire, — from 
the rack and the stake, where the spirit of man chanted rapturous 
hymns in its fierce agonies, and met death smiling, — from the cell 
of the thinker, where mind grappled with the mysterious unknown, 
piercing, with its thought of light, the dark veil of unrealized 
knowledge and possible com'binations ;---from every place where 
the souV has been really alive, and impatiently tossed aside the 
material conditions which would stifle or limit its energies, come 
the Genii of . Thought and Action, to rouse us from our sleep of 
death, to tear aside the thin delusions of bur conceit, and to pour 
into the shrunken veins of our discrowned spirits, the fresh tides 
oi mQnidl \\fQ."—E. P. Whipple. 



19* 



222 ELOCUTION". 

CADENCE. 

Cadence is the closing tone of a sentence. 

When three syllables successively descend in their radical pitch, 
at the close of a sentence,- (being a falling tritone,) the phrase may 
be called the Cadence, or Triad of the Cadence. 

" The completion of a thought is expressed, not only by the long pause 
which takes phxce at the end of a sentence, but usually by a falling of the 
voice, on the closing words to a lower pitch than that which prevailed in 
the body of the sentence. . This closing descent in the tone is used to pre-- 
vent the abruptness and irregularity of sound which would be produced by 
continuing the prevailing pitch to the close of the sentence, — ^^ which, 'from 
exciting expectation of further expression, would be at variance both with 
harmony and meaning/' . •. 

Partial Cadence takes place when a distinct portion of 
the sense is completed, although the whole sentence is not 
finished ; thus, after " are, " in the sentence, ' 

"Clear writers, like clear fountains, do not seem so deep as they 
are ; the turbid look the most profound." 

Distinct Cadence should be given when both the sentence 
and the -sentiment are- fully completed ; as, after "pro- 
found," in the preceding example. 

"Whoever closely observes the character of speech, in the common dia- 
logue of life, must perceive that the earnest interests which govern it, the 
sharp replications and interruptions of argument, and the piercing pitch 
of mirth and anger exclude, in a great measure, the terminating repose of 
the cadence. This is particularly the case with children and with the 
ignorant, who rarely employ any other than the wider and more expressive 
intervals of intonation. When, therefore, attempting to read with the 
serious purpose of a dignified elocution, the impassioned habit is too in- 
veterate to be at once laid aside: and a disposition to keep i\p the collo- 
quial characteristic of speech, extending itself to the place of the cadence, 
defers, fo.r a long tiine, the ability to give, with propriety and taste, the 
more composed and the graver intonation of the terminative phrase." — 
Hush. • . • 

" The unmeaning and mechanical style of reading, which is too gen- 
erally exemplified at schools and in professional performances, is chiefly 
characterized by a contiriuallj" returning fall of voice at the end of every 
sentence, — so uniform that it might be u,sed as a guide by which to count 
the exact number of -sentences read. A whole paragraph is read as so 
many detached and independent sentences, forming distinct and uncon- . 
nected propositions or maxims. Animated, natural, and appropriate read- 
ing, on the contrary, .avoids this frequent fall, and keeps up that perpetual 
variety which the change in sense reqviires : this effect being produced by 
modifying the close of every sentence according to its meaning in- connec* 
tion with the rest; each sentence being read as a dependent part of a con- 
nected whole, and unity and harmony thus given to a train of thought. 
This effect the reader attaints by disregarding the arbitrary rule for a fall- 
of the voice at every period, and seeking his guidance from the sense of 



CADENCE. 228 

what he utters, as he does in his habits of common conversation, — making 
no diiference in the two cases save that which arises of necessity from 
the more regular form of written sentences." — Bussell. . 

The note to which the cadence falls, and the space through 
which it descends, are dependent on the emotion with which the 
sentiment should be uttered, or on the length and complication of 
the sentence. In strong emotion, the cadence is often both abrupt 
and low ; thus, 

"L.et us do, or die." — 

"Redeem my pennon — ^charge again! 
Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! '■ — Scott. 

In gentle emotion, the cadence is gradual and moderate ; 

as 

"How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank." 

Shakespeare. 

In short sentences, in which emotion is not so strongly- 
expressed, the fall is slight; as, 

"Night brings out stars, as sorrow shows us truth." 

Gerald 3Iassey. 
In long sentences, the fall is more obvious, and com- 
mences farther from the close ; as, 

"Where sorrow 's held intrusive, and turned out. 
There wisdom will not enter, nor true power. 
Nor aught that dignifies humanity." — Henry Taylor. 

The usual errors in cadence are, — 

First : — Delaying the fall of the voice till the last words of the sen- 
tence, and dropping at once from a preceding uniform tone, — a 
fault arising from the habit of reading with mechanical attention. to 
the words, instead of an intelligent observation of the meaning. It 
is the tone used by children, while the difficulty of reading still 
remains, or when reading what they do not understand. 

Second: -^Falling very low on the closing phrase, — a fault usually 
contracted by reading only grave and formal selections, the solem- 
nity of style in which is unnatural to the tones of youth. The usual 
standard inadvertently adopted is that which too often is heard 
from the pulpit; the. effect of this is to substitute a heavy and 
hollow-sounding close, bearing for the true and varied tone of mean- 
ing, a measured proportion to the preceding parts of a sentence. 
This cadence, especially inappropriate in young readers, should be 
avoided by' care in the selection of exercises for practice, and after 
directing attention to the nature of the sentiment, adapting the 



224 ELOCUTION. 

voice to the meaning and not to the daily routine of mechanical 
utterance. 

Third: — Falling too near the beginning of the sentence, a fault arising 
from the habit of attending. to the language rather than to the 
thought,— from the wrong 'impression that there must necessarily 
be a fall at the close of every sentence, and, perhaps, too, from a 
mistake in taste by which the young reader is led to imagine that 
there is something pleasing to the ear, in a regular and formal 
descent of the voice. This tone is unavoidably associated with a 
pedantic manner; it must be avoided by keeping the voice in the 
same strain cff expression which should be observed in conversation. 

Fourth: — Using a waving tone of. voice, which makes a. false, em- 
phasis near the close, an error often heard at declamatory exhi- 
bitions at schools and colleges. This fault would be avoided by 
observing the true emphasis of meaning instead of an arbitrary 
emphasis of sound. 

Fifth : — A gradual sliding downward from the hegi7ining of the sen- 
tence, and a diminishing of the force of the voice, the speaker com- 
mencing every sentence on a comparatively high note, and with a 
moderate degree of force, but the pitch gradually falling and the 
loudness gradually diminishing in the progress of the sentence, till 
the tone has nearly died away at the close. These faults originate 
in the habits contracted in childhood, from the unnatural attempt 
to read too loud, ov in too large a room, thus making an eifort 
which the powers of the voice were then incapable of sustaining. 

"This objectionable tone' would, like all others, be removed by the habit 
of attending to the meaning of Avhat is read or spoken, more than to the 
phraseology. Written sentences differ from those of conversation chiefly 
in theit inversion ; the most forcible and expressive phrases being gen- 
erally last in order. This arrangement favors strength of style in compo- 
sition; but it needs a sustained and regularly increased force of voice, to 
give it jiist utterance. In good reading, accordingly, the tone strengtBens 
progressively in a sentence, — especially if long or complex ; whilst in fee- 
ble and unimpressive reading, the voice is gradually dwindling when the 
language requires increasing energy. 

" This sinking cadence arises also from the mechanical habit of attend- 
ing to sentences as such, and not to their value, or their connection in sig- 
nitication.- When two sentences are connected in meaning, the latter, if 
appropriately read, commences on the low note used at the close of the 
former. The unity of sound thus produced, gives the sentences a unity to 
the ear. The rising of the voice to a n-ew pitch, at the opening of a new 
sentence, indicates by the change of note, a change of meaning, or a tran- 
sition to a new and different thought. The uniform recurrence of a high 
pitch at the beginning of every sentence, has thus the effect of destroying 
the natural connection of thought, and of obscuring or changing the sense. 
It is a clear conception of the meaning, on which the learner is to depend 
as thtf only guide to appropriate cadence." — Russell. 



ILLtlSTEATIONS. — CADENCE. 225 

The frequent repetition or constant recurrence of any one of the 
preceding errors produces a disagreeable uniformity, wMch implies all 
the disadvantages of each single fault, aggravated by perpetual 
reiteration. . 

niustrations of Partial and Distinct Cadence. 

"The Spirit of God yet causes men to hope that a world will 
come, the better one they call it, perhaps they, might more wisely 
call it the real one. Also I hear them continually speak of going to it, 
rather than of its .coming to them, which again is strange; for in 
that prayer which they had strait from the lips of the Life of the 
world, there is not anything about going to another world, — only 
something of another world coming into this, or rather not another, 
but the only government, that government which will constitute a 
world indeed, new heavens and a new earth. E.arth no more with- 
out form and void but sown with fruits of righteousness ; Firma- 
ment no more of passing cloud, but of cloud risen out of the crystal 
sea; cloud in. which,. as He was once received up, so He shall again 
come with power." — Ruskin. 

"The Ideal is ever, near us, underlying the Actual, as the spirit 
.does its body, exhibiting itself step by step, through all the false- 
hoods and confusions of history and society, giving life to all 
which is not falsehood and. decay. 

"It was a true vision which John Buhyan saw, and one which 
as the visions of wise men are wont to do, meant far more than the 
seer fancied, when he beheld in his dream that there was indeed a 
Land of Beulah, and Arcadian Shepherd Paradise, on whose moun- 
tain-t.ops the everlasting sunshinelay ; but that the way to it went 
past the- mouth of Hell, and through the Valley of the Shadow of 
Death." — Kingsley. 

"Show me the man you honor, I know by that symptom, better 
than by any other, what kind orf a man you yourself are. For you 
show me there, what your ideal of manhood is ; what kind of man 
you l(?ng inexpressibly to be." — Carlyle 

" Know Reverence is the bond fdr man 
With all of best his eyes discern ; 
'jOve teaches more than Doctrine can. 
And iio pure Hope will vainly yearn." 

Sexton's Daughter,— Sterling. 
P 



226 • ELOCUTION. 

"From our free heritage of will, ■ 

The bitter springs of pain and ill 
Here and hereafter flow. The perfect day 
Of God is shadowless, and love is love alway." 

Tent on the Beach. — Whittier. 

'* God's justice is a bed where we 

Our anxious hearts may lay, 
And weary with our%selves, may sleep. 

Our discontent away. 
For right is right, since God is God ; 

And right the day must win; 
To doubt would be disloyalty, 

To falter would be sin ! " — ■ Faber. 

" Think not the Faith by which the just shall live 
Is a dead creed, a map correct of Heaven, 
Far less a feeling fond' and fugitive, 

A thoughtless gift withdrawn as soon, as given; . 
It is an affirmation and an act 

That bids eternal truth be present fact." 

Hartley Coleridge. 

"I have seen 
A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract 
Of inland ground, applying to his ear 
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell," 
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul 
Listened intensely, and his countenance soon • 
Brightened with joy ; for, murmuring from within, 
"Were heard sonorous- cadences, whereby 
To his belief the monitor expressed 
.Mysterious union with its native sea. 
Even such a shell the universe itself 
Is to the ear of Faith." 

The Excursion. — Wordsworth. 

**Let each man think himself an act of God, 
His mind a thought, his life a breath of God ; 
And let each try, by great thoughts and good deeds, ' • 
To show the most of Heaven he hath in him." 

• . Festus. — Bailey. 

'*' My fairest cJiild, I Have no song to give you ; 

No lark co aid pipe to skies so dull and gray : . 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — CADENCE. 227 

Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you. 
For every day. 

" Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long : 
And so make life, death, and that vast, for-ever 

One grand, sweet song." — A Farewell. — Kingsley. 

" Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend, — 
Towards a higher object. Love was given, 
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end; 
For this the passion to excess was driven, 
"That self might be. annulled. — her bondage prov« 
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 

Laodamia. — Wordsworth. 

'Life's more than breath and the quick round of blood; 
It 's a great spirit and a busy heart. 
The coward and the small in soul scarce do live. 
Oiie generous feeling — one great thought — one deed 
Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem ' . ' 

Than if each .year might number a thousand days, — 
Spent as is this- by nations of matikind. 
We live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; 
In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives 
Who thinks most — feels the noblest — acts the best. 
Lifers but a means unto'an end — that end. 
Beginning, mean, and end to all things — God." 

Festus. — Bailey. 

"Alas for him who never sees 
. The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! 
Who, helpless lays his dead away, 
Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play ! ' 
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, 
The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 
That Life is ever Lord of Death, 
And Love can never lose its own! " 

Snow-Botjni). — Whittier. 

" To me it seems we best remember Him 
By prizing, loving all the things He gives 



228 ELOCUTION. 

In Him the Giver, — loving them the more 

Because He gives them; just as we would wear 

A token from some cherished earthly friend 

Upon our hearts, as if we could not hold 

It there too closely for the giver's sake. 

That gave it not for slighting. "--Makt. — Miss Greenwell. 

" Is the bower lost, then ? Who sayeth 
That the Tbower indeed is lost? 
Hark! my spirit in it prayeth 
Through the solstice and the frost,— 
And the prayer preserves it greenly, to the last and uttermost — 

*' Till another open for me 
In God's Eden-land unknown, 
With an angel at the doorway, ' • 
White with gazing at His Throne; 
And a saint's voice in the palm trees, singing — 'All is lost 
.... and ivoni ' " 

The Lost Bower. — Jfrs. Browning 

"So should we live that every hour 

May die, as dies the natural flower, 
A self-reviving thing of power : 

*' That every thought and every deed. 
May hold within itself the seed 
Of future good and future" meed ; 

"Esteeming sorrow, whose employ 
Is to develop, not destroy. 
Ear better than a "barren Joy." . 

The WOE.TH of Hours. — R. M. Milnes. 

■ " Cheat her not with the old .comfort, 
■ ' Soon she will forget,' — 
Bitter truth, alas, — but matter 

Rather for regret ; . 
Bid her not ' Seek other pleasures, 

Turn to other things : '' 
But rather nurse her caged sorrow 
Till the captive sings." 

■Friend SoKROV/. — Hiss Procter. 

"Ill that He blesses is our good, 
And unblest good is ill ; 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — CADENCE. 229 

And all is right that seems most wrong, 
If it be His sweet will! " — Faber. 

"Love that believes, is always sweet 
To fearful hearts, which Thou wilt guide, 
And mine may win some timid feet, 
To the deep River's, quiet' side. 
While from that River's fertile banks, " 
My resting eye their portion sees — 
0, that my soul might yield Thee thanks, 
By isomforting the least of these." 

Hymn. — Miss Waring, 

"I know Thee who hast kept iny path, and made 
Light for me in the darkness — tempering sorrow, 
So that it reached me like a solemn joy," 

Paracelsus. — Browning, 

- " B.e still and strong, 

man, my brother ! hold thy sobbing breath. 
And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong, — 
That so, as life's appaintment issueth. 
Thy vision may be clear to Watch along 
The sunset consummation-lights of death." 

The Prospect. — Mrs. Browning. 

"The dial 
Receives many- shades, and each points to the sun. 
The shadows are many, the sunlight is one. • 

Life's sorrows still fluctuate : God's love does not. 
And His love is unchanged, when it changes our lot. '■ 
Looking up to this light, which is common to all. 
And down to those shadows, on each side, that fall 
In time's silent circle, so various for each, 
■Is it nothing to know that they never can reach 
So far, but that ligl t lies beyond them forever ? " 

LuciLE. — Owen Meredith, 



20 



230 



ELOCUTIOJT. 



. FORCE. 

The term Force is used to denote loudness of sound ; 
it also includes energy. 

The various degrees of force may be thus represented — 



d \ 



^ \ 



^ ^ 



4^ 



4^ 



4^ 



4% 



4^4% 



Practise upon a single element, of speech, giving alternately 
the rising and falling inflection. Begin at the faintest sound above 
the whisper, upon the middle pitch, or a little below, and being 
careful to make no deviation from the key-note, gradually increase 
the sound to the most vehement force of calling and shouting, with 
all the power the voice can yield. 

Continue the same exercise upon single words and. phrases. 

"Vbeal gymnastics la'flFord no discipline more useful than that which 
accompanies the daily practice of the various gradations of force. Exer- 
cises of this description enable the public speaker to retain perpetually at 
command the main element of vivid and impressive utterance; and they 
furnish to young persons of studious' and sedentary habit the means of 
thorough invigoration for the energetic use of the voice, required in pro- 
fessional exertions. 

The effect of vocal training in the deijartment of force is greatly aug- 
mented, when tile bolder exercises are performed in the open air or in a 
large hall. A voice trained on this scale of practice, easily accommodates 
itself to a more limited space ; while it is equally true, that a voice habitu- 
ated to parlor reading only, usually fails in the attempt to practice in a 
room more spacious. Farther, the factvis familiar to instructors in elocu- 
tion, that persons .commencing practice with a very weak and inadequate 
voice, attain, in a few weeks, a perfect command of the utmost degrees of 
force, b}'- performing their exercises out of doors, or in a hall of ample 
dimensions. 

. It is a matter of great moment, in practising these exercises, to observe, 
at first, with the utmost strictness, the rule of commencing with the slight- 
est and advancing' to the most energetic forms of utterance. When prac- 
tice has imparted due vigor and facility, it will be a useful variation of 
order, to commence with the more powerful exertions of the voice, and 
descend to the more gentle. It is a valuable attainment, also, to be able 
to strike at once, and with perfect ease and precision, into any degree of . 
force, from whispering to shouting." ^-^«sse?^. 

" The daily repetition of the various stages of utterance, exemplified in 
exercises on force, will serve to maintain vigor, and pliancy of voice, and 
to preserve a disciplined strength and facility of utterance. The element-' 
ary practice of -examples should not be relinquished, till a perfect com- 
mand is acquired of every degree of loudness. The succession of the exer- 
cises should occasionally be varied, by practising them in inverted order; 
care should be taken to preserve,- in the expression of each, that perfect 
distinctness of articulation,- without which, force 'of utterance becomea 
useless. Full impressions of the importance of preparatory discipline will 
be needed to induce the. student to carry on this department of practice 



FORCE. ■ • 231 

with that vigorous and persevering application which it requires. The 
advantages of the attainment in. view, however, are of the utmost conse- 
quence to the health and vigor of the corporeal frame, the perfection of 
the organs of speech, the distinctness of enunciation, the adequate expres- 
sion of thought, and the appropriate influence of feeling. The customary 
tones of public speaking are generally assumed through Inadvertent imi-. 
tation, or adopted by misguided taste; these are equally defective and 
'.injurious, whether we regard the speaker himself, the sentiments which he 
utters, or their influence on the minds of others." — Ihid. 

The terms — loud and soft, strong and weak, are used to express 
the various degrees of force. 

Particular care should be taken not to confound these terms with 
high 2ii\^ low ; the latter being properly applied only to pitch. A 
mistake of this kind might therefore lead one, when he designs 
to increase the force of his voice, merely to raise it to a higher 
pitch, and thus, instead of producing the intended louder and 
stronger sound, he would merely give one more shrill. 

The term /o?-ce, as applieti to the utterance of syllables and words, 
has a meaning distinct from the term loudness, and also from that 
peculiar stress which is denominated emphasis. Force is nearly 
synonymous with energy. ' Energy, in delivery, may be given, not 
only, like accent, to single words, but it may also be extended to 
whole sentences and paragraphs. 

" In regard to a proper loudness of voice, the first object of every person 
who reads or speaks to others, doubtless should be to make himself easily 
and distinctly heard by all to whom he addresses himself. To effect this, 
he must fill with his voice the space occupied by the auditory. The 
volume and power of voice necessary to fill a given space; depends much 
on proper pitch as well as force, but far rnore on a clear and distinct 
articulation. The variety of loudness, softness, energy or feebleness 
requisite for good delivery falls within the compass of each key. By 
observing a distinct articulation, a speaker will- always be enabled to give 
the most volume 'of sound- on that pitch to which he is accustomed in 
ordinary conversation. But, by setting out on a higher key, he will allow 
himself less compass, and be likely to strain his voice before closing his 
discourse; thus by fatiguing himself he will speak with pain, and when- 
ever a person speaks with pain to himself, he is heard. with pain by his 
audience." — Kirkham. 

From Dr. Rush's instructions we deduce the following : 
-• There is an obvious propriety in the employment of force when 
distance is pictured in discourse. The indication of nearness, on 
the contrary, is well expressed by an abatement of this force. 

Secrecy muffles the voice against discovery; and doubt, while it 
leans towards a positive declaration, cunningly prepares the subter- 
fuge of an undertone, that the. impression of its possible error" may 
be least exciting and durable. 



232 ELOCUTION. 

Certainly, on the other hand, in the full desire tb.be heard, dis- 
tinctly assumes all the impressiveji^ss of strength. 

Anger declares itself with force, because its charges and denials 
are made with a wide appeal, and in its own sincerity of convic- 
tion. Alike degree offeree is employed in expressing hate, ferocity, 
or revenge. 

All sentiments,, unbecoming or disgraceful, smother the voice to 
its softer degrees, in the desire to conceal even the voluntary utter- 
ance of them. . . 

Joy is loud in calling for companions.hip, through the overflow- 
ing charity of its satisfaction. 

Bodily pain, fear, terror,- when not subdued by weakness, are 
strong in their expression, with the double intention of summon- 
ing relief, and of repelling the offending cause when it is a sen- 
tient being ; the sharpness a'nd vehemence of the full-strained and 
piercing cry being universally painful or appalling to the animal 
ear. 

Thoughts, sentiments, or conditions expressing humility, modesty, 
shame, doubt, irresolution, apathy, caution, mystery, repose, 
fatigue, or prostration from disease, require the piano or moderate 
voice. 

*"Tis not enough no harshness gives offence; 
The sound must seem an echo to the sense: 
Soft is the strain' when zephyr gently blows, 
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
When Ajax striv'es some rock's vast weight to throw, 
• The line too labors, and the words move slow : 

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main." 

Pope. 
'* precious evenings! all too quickly sped ! 

L-eaving us heirs to amplest heritages 

Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages, 

And giving tongues unto the silent dead! 

How our hearts glowed and trembled as she read. 

Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages 

Of the great poet who foreruns the ages, 

Anticipating all that sh-all be said! 

happy Reader ! having for thy text '. 

The magic book_, whose- Sibylline leaves have caught 

The rarest essence of all human thought ! 

happy Poet! by no critic vext! 

How must thy listening spirit now rejoice 

To be interpreted by -such a voice ! " 
Sonnet on Mrs. Kemble's Readings from Shakk3peare. — Longfellow, 



ILLUSTKATIONS. — LOUD FOKCE. 233 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

Lond Force. 

"Blow wind, and crack your cheeks I rage! blow! 
, You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout 

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! 

You sulphurous and .thought-executing fires, 
• Vaunt couriers to oak-clearing thunderbolts, 
. Singe my white head I And th.ou, all-shaking thunder 

Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! . 

Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, . 

That make ingrateful man ! " — King Lear, 

" 'Ruin seize. thee, ruthless King! 
Confusion on thy banners wait; 
Though fanned by Conquest's crimson- wing, 

They mock' the air with idle state. 

Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 

Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail 
; To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 

From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears! ' 
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward' scatter'd wild dismay. 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array. 
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : 
* To arms ! cried Mortimer, and couch'dhis quivering lance.' " 

The Bard. — Gray. 

" There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains 
are forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! 
The war is inevitable; and let it come ! I repeat it, Sir, let it 
come ! . . 

"It is in vain. Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, 
peace, peace !.^ — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun I 
The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears 
the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the 
field ! Why stand we here idle ? What is it that the Gentlemen 
wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, . 
as to be purchased at the pri-ce of ohains and slavery ? Forbid it, 
Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as 
for me, give me liberty, or give me death I''' —Patrick Henry. 
• ^0* 



234 ELOCUTION. 

** Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 
- Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
Wrongs me not half so much as- he who shuts 
The gates of honor on me, — turning out 
The Roman from his birthright; and, -for what?. 

(^Looking rowid him.) 
To fling your offices to every slave! 
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, 
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top 
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Eome, 
Hang hissing at the nobler man below ! " 

Catiline. — Croly. 



Moderate Force. 

' Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart ; 
Thou had'st a voice, whose sound was like the sea ; 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. 
So did'st thou tra,vel on like's common way 
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did "lay." 

SoKNET" TO Milton.-^ Wordsworth. 

'Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned. 
Mindless of its just honors ; with this key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart ; the melody 
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound ; 
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound ; 
With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief; 
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf 
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned 
His visionary brow; a glow worm lamp, 
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Fairy-land 
To struggle through dark ways ; and when a damp 
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
The Thing, became a trumpet ; whence he blew 
Soul-animating strains ^— alas, too few ! " 

The Sonnet. — Ibid. 

' Beaiity, Good, and Knowledge are tiree sisters 
That doat upon each other, friends to man, . 
Living together under the same roof, 
And never can be sundered without tears. 



ILLUSTEATIONS. —MODERATE FORCE. . 235 

—He that shuts Love out, in turn shall be 
Shut out fi'om Love, and on her- threshold lie 
Howling in outer darkness. Not for this 
Was common clay ta'en from the common earth, 
Moulded by. God, and temper'd with the tears 
Of angels, to the 'perfect shape of man." 

. The Palace' of Art. — Tennyson. 

** Think of him [Goldsmith] reckless, thriftless, vain if you" like 
' — but merciful, gentle, generous, full of .love and pity. He passes 
out of our life, and goes to render his account beyond it. Think 
of the poor pensioners weeping at his grave ; think of the noble 
spirits that admired and deplored him ; think of the righteous pen 
that wrote his epitaph — and of the wonderful and unanimous re- 
sponse of aifection with which the world has paid back the love he 
gave it. His humor delighting us still ; his song fresh and beauti- 
ful as when first he charmed with it : his words in all our mouths: 
his very weakness beloved and familiar, — his benevolent spirit seems 
still tb smile upon us : to do gentle kindnesses : to succour with 
sweet charity: to soothe, to caress, and forgive : to plead with the 
fortunate for thie unhappy and the poor." — Thackeray. 

*« The quality of mercy is not strained; 
It drdppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
TJpon the place beneath : it is twice- blessed ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better .than his crown ; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to. awe and majesty, 
"Wherein doeth set the dread and fear of kings; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 
It is enthroned in the heartg of kings. 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then showlikest God's ■' 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefoi'e, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider .this — • 
That in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see. salvation ; we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer, doth teach us allto render . 
The deeds of mercy." — Portia. — Merchant op Venice. 

"The flowers may fade avvay, the -woods may fall, 
The. sea may waste the land, the land the sea, 



236 ELOCUTION. 

And men may feed the Avorms beneath the pall^ 

And time may vanish in Eternity ; 
Still, ocean-like, the tides of Being lie, 

Filled from exhaustless urns ;. 

The flame of life still burns, 

And God still sits on high. 
And watches Earth below, with his unsleeping eye ! " 

Cabmen NAiuRiE Triumphale. — R.E.Stoddard. 

*' Each in his own way ; each in his own profession ; each through 
that little, spot in the universe given to him. For not only is God 
everywhere, but all of God is in every point. Not his wisdom here, 
and His goodness there ; the. whole truth may be read, if we had 
eyes, and heart, and time enough, in the laws of a daisy's growth. 
God's Beauty, His Love, His Unity; nay, if you observe how each 
atom exists, not for itself alone, but for the sake of every other 
atom .in the universe, in. that atom or daisy, you may read the law 
of the Cross itself. The crawling of a beetle before now has taught 
•perseverance, and led to a crown. The little moss, brought close 
to a traveller's eye in an African desert, who had lain down to die, 
roused him to faith in that Love which had so curiously arranged 
the minute fibres of a thing so small, to be seen once, and but once 
by a human eye, and carried hiin, like' Elijah of old, in the strength 
of that heavenly repast, a journey of forty days and forty nights 
to the sources- of the Nile ; yet who could have suspected divinity in 
a beetle, or theology in ^m.o&^t"-^— Robertson. 

"We hold the keys of Heaven in our hands, 
■ The gift and heirloom of a. former state. 

And lie in infancy at Heaven's gate, 
Transfigured in the light that streams along the lands ! 
Around our pillars golden ladders rise. 

And up. and down the skies. 

With winged sandals shod. 
The angels come and- go, the Messengers of God! 
. Nor do they, fading from us, e'er depai-t, — 

It is the childish heart ; 

We walk as heretofore,' 
Adown their shining ranks, but see them — nevermore! 

Not Heaven is gone, but we are blind with tears, 
Groping our way along the downward slope of Years ! " 

Cabmen Natub^ Tbiumphale. — Stoddard. 



ILLUSTEATIONS.— SOFT FORCE. 237 

"Not only around our infancy ; • 

Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; 
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 

We Sinais climb and know it not ; 
Over our manhood bend the skies ; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies ; 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives ; 
Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 

Waits -with its benedicite ; . 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea." 

Vision op Sib Launfal. — J. E. Lowdl. 

Soft Force. 

"Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ! 
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel singSj 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim. 
Such harmony is in immortal souls : 
But while this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it^" — Shakesjimre. 

'<,How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh, 

Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear, 

Were. disQord to the speaking quietude 

That wraps this moveless scene. Keaven's ebon vault,' 

Studded with stars unutterably bright, 

Through which the moon's unclouded -grandeur xolls, 

Seems like a canopy which love has spread 

To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle .hiUs, 

Robed in a garment of. untrodden snow; 
. Yon darksome rocks, wheiice icicles depend,. 

So stainless that their white and' glittering spires 

Tinge not the moon's 'pure beam ; yon castled steep. 

Whose banner .hangeth'o'er the time-worn tower 

So idly, that rapt fancy deemeth it 

A metaphor of peace: — all form a scene 

Where musing solitude might love to lift 

Her soul above" this sphere of earthliness ; 

Where silence undisturbed might watch alone, 

So cold, so bright, so still " — Shelley. 



238 ELOCUTION. 

'.' All heaven and earth are still, — though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
Of stars to the lulled lake, and mountain coast, 
.All is concenter'd in a life intense, 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost. 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that which is of all Creator and Defence." — Byron. 

"How beautiful is nighti 
A dewy, freshness fills the silent air ; 
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck; nor stain. 
Breaks the serene of heaven: 
In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine 
Rolls through the dark-blue depths. 

Beneath her steady ray 

The desert-circle spreads, 
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. 

How beautiful is. night .^". — Southey. 

"It is the hush "of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains; dusk, yet clear, 
Mellow' d and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and, drawing, near, 
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore 
Of flowers yet fresh with'childhood; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasshopp.er one good-night'carol more." — Byron. 

"Ye stars! which are the. poetry of heaven! 
■ If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven,. 
That in our aspirations to be great, 
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 
And claim a kindred with you; forye are 
A beauty and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and reverence from afar, 
That fortune,' fame, power, life, have named themselves a star." 

. Ibid. 

"Now- came still evening on, and Twilight grey 
Had in her sober livery all things clad ; . . 
Silence accompanied : for beast and bird 



• ILLUSTEATIONS. — SOFT FORCE. 239 

They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung ; 
•Silence was pleased: now glowed the firmament 
With living sapphires : Hesperus, that. led 
The starry host, rode brightest,' till the Moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 
Apparent queen, .unveiled her peerless light, . 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw." — 3Iilton. 



■ Let us speak low, the Infant is 

The frosty hills grow sharp, the day is near. 

And Phosphor with his taper comes to peep 

Into the cradle of the new-born year ; 

Hush ! the Infant is asleep ; 

Monarch of the Day and Night, 

Whisper, yet it is not light. 

The Infant is asleep. 
' Those arms shall crush great serpents ere to-morrow, 
• His closed eyes shall' wake to laugh and weep ; 

His lips shall curl with, mirth and writhe with sorrow, 

And charm up Truth and Beauty from the deep ; • 

Softly, softly, let us keep " 

Our vigils ; visions cross his rest. 

Prophetic pulses stir his breast, 

Although he be asleep." 

The Birth of the Yeah. — Frederick Tennyson. 

''Tis midnight's holy hour, — and silence now 
Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 
The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the w^nds 
The bell's deep tones are swelling, — 'tis the knell 
Of the departed year. No funeral train 
Is sweeping past ; yet, on the stream and wood. 
With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest 
Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air. is stirred 
As by a mourner's sigh.; and on yon cloud 
That floats so still and placidly through heaven. 
The spirits of the seasons seem to stand,. — ■ 
Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, 
And Winter, with his aged locks, — ^ and breathe 
In mournful cadences that come abroad 
Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail. 



240 ELOCUTION". • . . 

A melancholy dirge, o'er the dead year 
Gone from the Earth forever." 

The Dirge of the Year. — G. D. Prentice. 

"No war, or "battle's sound, 
Was heard the world around — 

The idle spear and shield were high up hung; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstain'd with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 
And kings sat still -with awful eye, 
As if they siirely knew their sovereign Lord was by. 

*' But peaceful was the night 
Wherein the Prince of Light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began ; 
The winds, with wonder whist. 
Smoothly the waters kissed, 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean. 
Who now hath quite. forgot to rave, 
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave." 

Hymn ON the Morning op Christ's Nativity. — Milton. 

"Hearken, hearken! 

God speaketh in thy soul ! ' 

Saying, ' thou that .movest 
With feeble paces o'er this earth of mine. 
To. break beside the fount thy golden, bowl 
Filled with salt tears from out thy mournful eyne, — • 
Direct them upward to my heaven, and see ' . . 

My right hand, hold thine immortality 
In an eternal grasping ! Thou that lovest" 
The songful birds a,nd grassesunderfoot. 
And eke what tombs shall hide and change pollute — 
I am the end of love ! — > give love to me.' 
O thou that sinnest, grace doth more abound 
Than all thy sin ! sit still beneath my rood, 
And count the droppings of my victim-blood, 

And seek none other sound ! ' . 

"Hearken! hearken. 
Shall we hear the lapsing river . 
And our brother's sighing, ever, 
And not the voice of God ? " 

Sounds. — Mrs. Browning. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — SOFT FOECE. 241 

** Ascension morn ! . I hear the bells 

Eing from the village far away ; 
How solemnly that music tells 

The mystic story of the day ! 
Fainter and fainter come the chimes, 

As though they melted into air, 
Like voices of the ancient times, 

Like whispers of ascending prayer! 
So sweet and gentle sound they yet 

That I, who never bend the knee, 
Can listen on and half forget 

That heaven's bright door is shut for me. 
Yes, universal as the dew. 

Which falls alike on field and fen. 
Comes the wide summons to the true, 

The false, the best and worst of men," 

BoTHWELL. — Aytoun. 

"Hush! is he sleeping ? 
They say that men have slept upon the cross ; 
So why not he? . . . Thanks, Lord! I hear him breathe: 
And he will preach thy word to-morrow ! — save 
Souls, crowds, for Thee ! And they will know his worth 
Years hence — poor things, they know not what they do! — 
And crown him martyr ; and his name will ring 
Through all the shores of earth, and all the stars 
Whose eyes are sparkling through their tears to see 
His triumph — Preacher ! Martyr ! — Ah — and me ? 
If they must couple my poor name with his, 
Let them tell all the truth — say how I loved him, 
And tried to damn him by that love ! Oh Lord ! 
Returning good for evil ! and was this 
The payment I deserved for such a sin ? 
To hang here on my cross,, and look at him 
Until we kneel before Thy throne in heaven ! " 

St. Maura. — Eingsley. 

"Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest. 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay. 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed 
Her smoothed limbs and soul' fatigued away; 
Flown, like a thought, until the morrow day ; 
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; 
21 Q 



242 ELOCUTION. 

Clasped, like a missal, where swart Paynims pray, 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again." 

The Eve of St. Agnes. — Keats. 

"She sleeps: her breathings are not heard 
In palace chambers far apart. 
The fragrant tresses are not stirred 
That lie upon her charmed heart. 
She sleeps : on either hand upswells 

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: 
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 
A perfect form in perfect rest." 

The Sleeping Beauty. — Tennyson, 

"Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound 
Of all that might delight a dainty ear. 
Such as, at once, might not on living ground. 
Save in this paradise be heard elsewhere : 
Right hard it was for wight which did it hear 
To weet what manner music that might be, 
For all that pleasing is to living ear 
Was there consorted in one harmony ; 
Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree. 

"The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade 
Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet : 
Th' angelical, soft, trembling voices made 
To th' instruments divine respondence meet; 
The silver sounding instruments did meet 
With the base murmurs of the water's fall ; 
The water's fall, with difference discreet. 
Now soft, now loud, unto the winds did call ; 
The gentle, warbling wind, low answered to all." 

The Faerie Queene. — Spenser. 



FORCE, Continued. 

VARIETIES OF STRESS. 

The different kinds or varieties of stress are the Radical, 
Vanishing, Median, Componnd, and Thoroughi Stress. 

Radical Stress is stress placed on the radical movement, 
or first part of the sound. 



KADICAL STRESS. 243 

This stress is the sign of anger, positive affirmation, command, and 
of energetic sentiments of all kinds. • 

Impatience and mirth, being generally uttered in haste, demand 
radical stress for their appropriate expression, 

" Thei-e are so few speakers able to give a radical stress with this mo- 
mentary burst, and therefore so few who may comprehend the mere de- 
scription of it, that I must draw an illustration from the effort of coughing. 
A single impulse of coughing, is not in all points exactly like the abrupt 
voice on syllables; for that single impulse is a forcing out of almost all 
the breath; which is not the case in syllabic utterance: yet if the tonic 
element be employed as the vocality of coughing, its abrupt opening will 
trul}' represent the function of radical stress, when used in discourse. 

" It is this stress which draws the cutting edge of words across the ear, 
and startles even stupor into attention : this, which lessens the fatigue of 
listening, and out-voices the murmur and unruly stir of an assembly : and 
a sensibility to this, through a general instinct of the animal ear, which 
gives authority to the groom, and makes the horse submissive to his angry 
accent. Besides the fulness, loudness, and abruptness of the radical stress, 
when employed for distinct articulation, the tonic sound itself should be a 
pure vocality. When mixed with aspiration, it loses the brilliancy, that 
serves to increase the impressive effect of the explosive force." — Rush. 

Examples. 

"Prythe, peace: 
I dare do all that may become a man ; 
Who dares do more, is none." — Shakespeare. 

*' You can talk a mob into anything ; its feelings may be — usually 
are — on the whole generous and right ; but it- has no foundation for 
them, no hold of them ; you may tease or tickle it into any, at your 
pleasure ; it thinks by infection, for the most part, catching a pas- 
sion like a cold, and there is nothing so little that it will not roar 
itself wild about, when the fit is on; — nothing so great but it will 
forget in an hour, when the fit is past. But a gentleman's, or a 
gentle nation's passions are just, measured, and continuous." — 
Ruskin. 

"The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the 
high purpose, the firm resolve., the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging 
the whole man onward, right onward to his object, — this, this is 
eloquence ; or rather it is something greater and higher than all 
eloquence, it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action." — Webster. 

" I have heard it said that, when one lifts up his voice against 
things that are, and wishes for a change, he is raising a clamor 
against existing institutions, a clamor against our venerable estab- 



244 ELOCUTION. 

lisliments, a clamor against the law of tlie land ; but this is no 
clamor against the one or the other, — it is a clamor against the 
abuse of them all. It is a clamor raised against the grievances that 
are felt, Mr. Burke, who was no friend to popular excitement, — 
who was no ready tool of agitation, no hot-headed enemy of exist- 
ing establishments, no undervaluer of the wisdom of our ancestors, 
no scoffer against institutions as they are, — has said, and it deserves 
to be fixed in Letters of gold, over the hall of every assembly which 
calls itself a legislative body, — ' Where there is abuse, there ought 
to be clamor ; because it is better to have our slumber broken by 
the fire-bell, than to perish amid the flames, in our bed ! ' " — Lord 
Brougliam. 

" Back to thy punishment, 
False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy ling'ring, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 

Re_ply of Death to Satan, in Paradise Lost. 

Median Stress is stress laid on the middle of the sound. 
It expresses dignity, plaintwenesa, wonder, awe, respect, 
deliberation, solemnity, supplication, and reverential sub- 
mission. 

" ' Radical stress/ with its abrupt explosion, is the irrepressible burst 
of forcible utterance, in the language of unconscious and involuntary emo- 
tion. It is the expression of passion rather than of will. IJedian stress, 
on the contrary, is more or less a conscious and intentional effect, prompted 
and sustained and enforced by the will. It is the natural utterance of those 
emotions which allow the intermingling of reflection and sentiment with 
expression, and which purposely dwell on sound, as a means of enhancing 
their effect. The swell of median stress is accordingly, more or less ample 
and prolonged, as the feeling which it utters is moderate, or deep and full, 
lofty and awful. 

" This mode of stress is one of the most important in its effects on lan- 
guage, whether in the form of speaking or of reading. Destitute of its 
ennobling and expansive sound, the recitation of poetry sinks into the style 
of dry prose, the language of devotion loses its sacredness, the tones of 
oratory lose their power over the heart. 

" There is great danger, however, of this natural beauty of vocal expres- 
sion being converted into a fault by being overdone. The habit recog- 
nized under the name of ' mouthing,' has an excessiveljMncreased and pro- 
longed median swell for one of its chief characteristics. In this shape, it 
becomes a great deformity in utterance, — particularly when combined with 
what is no infrequent concomitant, the faulty mode of voice, known as 
'chanting' or singing. Like sweetness among savors, this truly agreeable 
quality becomes distasteful or disgusting, when in the least degree exces- 
sive." - — Btissell. 



ILLUSTKATIONS. — MEDIAN STEESS. 245 



Examples. 

''When the veil of the temple, even this poor worn garment of 
our humanity, is rent from the top to the bottom, we catch glimpses 
of the inner glory : the rocks are riven, the graves open, they who 
have long slept in the dust come forth, and reveal to us awful and 
tender secrets, of which otherwise we should have known nothing. 
' They who love,' as says St. Chrysostom, < if it be but man, not 
God,' will know what I mean, when I speak of joys springing out of 
the very heart of anguish, and holding to it by a common and 
inseparable life ; will understand how it comes that the pale flowers 
which thrust themselves out of the ruins of hope, of endeavor, of affec- 
tion, — yes, even out of the mournful wreck of intellect itself, — 
should breathe out a deep and intimate fragrance, such as the broad 
wealth of air and sunshine never yet gave, — 

' For in things 
That move past utterance, tears ope all their springs, 
Nor are there in the powers that all life bears 
More true interpreters of all than tears.' " — Dora Greenwell, 

"Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence, and 
where He is, none are desolate, and there is no room for despair. 
At the darkest, you have felt a hand through the dark, closer per- 
haps and tenderer than any touch dreamt of at noon. As He knows 
His own, so he knows how to comfort them — using sometimes the 
very grief itself, and straining it to the sweetness of a faith unat- 
tainable to those ignorant of any grief." — 3Irs. Browning. 

"Methought from out the crowd a steadfast eye 

Did single out mine own ! a voice Divine 
Was borne within nay soul, in tones that made 
Such depths of music there, the sense did fade 

Through sweetness that it kindled ; Lord, for Thine 
I knew the voice full well ! and yet I heard 
Of all Thou spakest then, one only word, 
My Name ! Thou callest me ! I must prepare 
For Thee this day ! and wilt Thou come and share 
My Mid-day meal, while I with heart elate 
Shall wait on Thee, or wilt Thou rather wait 
On me Thy servant ? through this noon-tide glare, 
Thy Banner drawing tenderly to spread 
An early dusk that I may lay my head 
The sooner at Thy supper on Thy breast ? 
21* 



246 ELOCUTION-. 

It matters little, Lord! or come or send — 
Take Thou my spirit hence, or like a Friend . 
Make Thou Thy home within it, — I am blest," 

The Summons. — Dora Greenwell. 

"I died for thee ; for thee I am alive. 
And my humanity doth mourn for thee, 
For thou art mine ; and all thy little ones, 
They, too, are mine, are mine. Behold, the house 
Is dark, but there is brightness where the sons 
Of God are singing, and behold, the heart 
Is troubled : yet the nations walk in white ; 
They have forgotten how to weep ; and thou 
Shalt also come, and I will foster thee 
And satisfy thy soul ; and thou shalt warm 
Thy trembling life beneath the smile of God." 

The Brothers. — Jean Ingelow. 

VanisMng Stress is stress placed on the vanishing move- 
ment, or last part of the sound. 

In point of dignity, this stress is far inferior to the median, but 
it is highly expressive of sentiments represented by the semitone, 
as impatient ardor, surprise, frctfulness, and sometimes of excessive 
grief. 

The obvious preparation of the organs for the vocal effect, in the 
expression of vanishing stress, implies its comparative dependence 
on volition. It is also the natural utterance of determined purpose, 
of earnest resolve, of stern rebuke, of contempt, of astonishment and 
horror, of fierce and obstinate will, of dogged sullenness of temper, of 
stubborn passion, and all similar moods. 

Vanishing stress is exemplified, in its moral effect, in the lan- 
guage of a child stung to a high pitch of impatient or peevish feel- 
ing, and uttering, in the tone of the most violent ill temper, "I 
won't! " or "You sha'n't ! " In such circumstances the explosion of 
passion is deferred, or hangs, for a moment, on the ear, till the 
vanish or final pai"t of the sound bursts out from the chest, throat, 
and mouth, with furious vehemence. 

"Like all other forms of impassioned utterance which are strongly 
marked in the usages of natural habit, this property of voice is indispen- 
sable to appropriate elocution, whether in speaking or reading. Without 
'vanishing stress/ declamation will sometimes lose its manly energy of de- 
termined will, and become feeble song to the ear. High-wrought resolu- 
tion can never be expressed without it. Even the language of protest. 



COMPOUND STRESS. 247 

though respectful in form, needs the aid of the right degree of 'vanishing 
stress/ to intimate its sincerity and its firmness of determination, as well 
as its depth of conviction. 

" But when we extend our views to the demands of lyric and dramatic 
poetry, in which high-wrought emotion is so abundant an element of effect, 
the full command of this property of voice, as the natural utterance of ex- 
treme passion, becomes indispensable to true, natural and appropriate 
style." — Russell. 

Examples. 

"I do not like but yet, it does allay 
The good precedence ; fye upon but yet : 
But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor." 

Cleopatra to llessenger. — Anthony and Cleopatra. 

"On such occasions, I will place myself on the extreme boundary 
of my right, and bid defiance to the arm that v^ould push me from 
it."— Webster. 

" Let the consequences be what they will, I am determined to 
proceed. The only principles of public conduct which are worthy 
of a gentleman or a man, are to sacrifice estate, health, ease, ap- 
plause, and even life, at the sacred call of his country." — Otis. 

" Fret, till your proud heart break; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondsmen tremble. Must I budge? 
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you : for, from this day forth, 
I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish." 

Brutus to Cassius. — Julius C^sar. 

Compound Stress is stress on both the radical and van- 
ishing movements. 

On prolonged quantity, it is the sign of energy or violence in the 
passion represented by it. It is not an agreeable form of stress, 
there being a snappishness in its character which should always be 
avoided by a good reader, except on those rare occasions which 
especially call for the peculiarity of its expression. 

" The use of this form of stress belongs appropriately to feelings of pe- 
culiar force or acuteness. But on this very account, it sometimes becomes 



248 ELOCUTION-. 

an indispensable means of natural expression and true effect in reading or 
speaking. The difference between vivid and dull or flat utterance will often 
turn upon the exactness with which this expressive function of the voice 
is exerted." — Russell. 

" Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world, 
And bear the palm alone." 

Cassius to Brutus. — Julius C^sar. 

" Pile my ship with bars of silyer— pack wath coins of Spanish gold, 
From keel-piece up to deck plank, the roomage of her hold, 
By the living God who made me ! — I Avould sooner in your bay 
Sink ship and crew and cargo than bear this child away ! " 

The Ballad of Cassandra Soutwick. — Whittier. 

"Deserted ! — Cowards ! Traitors ! Let me free 
But for a moment ! I relied on you ; 
Had I relied upon myself alone, 
I had kept them still at bay ! I kneel to you — 
Let me but loose a moment, if 't is only 
To rush upon your swords." 

Icilius, in Yibginius. — Sheridan Knowles. 

Thorongli Stress is stress laid upon the concrete sound 
throughout its whole course. 

"This stress, when applied to long syllabic quantity or to continuous 
speech, is a sign of rudeness and vulgarity. By destroying the natural 
structure of the vanishing concrete, it banishes this refined spirit, and all- 
pervading grace and delicacy of the human voice." — Rush. 

" Thorough Stress is one of the most powerful weapons of oratory, but 
if indiscriminately used, it becomes ineffective, as savoring of the habit and 
mannerism of the individual, rather than of just or appropriate energy. 
Under such circumstances, it becomes rant, and when joined, as it some- 
times is, to the habit of * mouthing,' it can excite nothing but disgust." 

'-' If I were an American, as I am an Englisliman, while a foreign 
troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms! 
— never ! never ! never ! " — Wm. Pitt. 

"What in tlie w^orld he is 
That names me traitor, villain like he lies : 
Call by thy trumpet : lie that dares approach, 
On him, on you, — who not ? — I will maintain 
My truth and honor firmly." — Edmund, in King Lear. 



ILLUSTRATIO^^rS. — THOROUGH STRESS. 249 

" Call me their traitor ! — Thou injurious tribune ' 
Within thine, eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
In thine hands clutched as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, 
Thou liest, unto thee, with a Toice as free 
As I do pray the gods." — Cokiolanus. 

"He called so loud, that all the hollow deep 
Of Hell resounded. Princes, Potentates, 
Warriors, the flow'r of heav'n, once yours, now lost, 
Is such astonishment as this can seize 
Eternal spirits ; or have ye chos'n this place 
After the toil of battle to repose 
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven ? 
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
To adore the conqueror ? who now beholds 
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood 
With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon 
His swift pursuers from heav'n gates discern 
Th' advantage, and descending tread us down 
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf. 
Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n." 

Satan's Speech to his Legions. — Paradise Lost. 

The following plan, suggested by Prof. Russell, for teachers who 
are instructing classes, who will find great aid in the use of the 
blackboard, is for the purpose of visible illustration, in regard to 
the character and efi'ect of the diff"erent species of stress. 

Radical Stress 1 ^> all 

Vanishing " 2 .^d a 

^^ J (^Repeat several times with con- 

Median " 3 -^^^ " I stantly increasing force.) 

Compound " 4 

Thorough " 5 MJMJfai << 

Tremor .... " 

Let ^ represent the radical stress on the sound of a In the word 
all, in the following example of authoritative command: '^Attend all ! " 
— -^ the vanishing stress on the same element of impatience and 



250 ELOCUTION-. 

displeasure : "I said all, — not one or two." — ^^tlie median stress 
on the same element, in reverence and adoration. " Join all ye crea- 
tures in His praise ! " — ^>^^the compound stress in astonishment 
and surprise : "What all ! did they all fail ? " — ^^^ the thorough 
stress in defiance : "Come one — come all!" — .... the tremor 
oi sorrow : "Oh! I have lost you all ! " The practice of the examples 
and the elements should extend to the utmost excitement of emotion 
and force of voice. 

" Ocular references may seem at first sight to have little value in a sub- 
ject which relates to the ear. But notes and characters, as'used in music, 
serve to show how exactly the ear may be taught through the eye ; and 
even if we admit the comparative indefinite nature of all such relations 
when transferred to forms of speech, and of reading, the suggestive power 
of visible forms has a great influence on the faculty of association, and aids 
clearness and precision of thought, and a corresponding defiuiteness and 
exactness in sound." — Rusaeil. 



SELECTIONS. — MEDIAN STEESS. 251 

SELECTIONS. 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF MEDIAN STRESS. 

THANATOPSIS. William Cullen Bryant.. 

To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, — 
Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again. 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt fhou go 
To mix forever with the elements, 
To be a brother to the insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor could'st thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings. 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good. 



252 ELOCUTION. 

■ fair forms, and lioary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales ■ 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods ; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashiugs — yet — the dead are there: 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead there reign alone. 
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 
By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 

So live, that, when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 



SELECTIONS. — MEDIAN STEESS. 253 

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon', but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who draws the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



THE VISION OF IMMORTALITY. Ihid. 

I who essayed to sing, in earlier days, 
The Thanatopsis and The Hymn to Death, 
Wake now the Hymn to Immortality. 
Yet once again, oh ! man, come forth and view 
The haunts of Nature ; walk the waving fields, 
Enter the silent groves, or pierce again 
The depths of the untrodden wilderness. 
And she shall teach thee. Thou hast learned before 
One lesson — and her Hymn of Death hath fallen 
With melancholy sweetness on thine ear ; 
Yet she shall tell thee with a myriad tongue 
That life is there — life in uncounted forms — 
Stealing in silence through the hidden roots, 
In every branch that swings — in the green leaves, 
Ajid waving grain, and the gay summer flowers 
That gladden the beholder. Listen now, 
And she shall teach thee that the dead have slept 
But to awaken in more glorious forms — 
And that the mystery of the seed's decay 
Is but the promise of the coming life. 
Each towering oak that lifts its living head 
To the broad sunlight, in eternal strength. 
Glorious to tell thee that the acorn died. 
The flowers that spring above their last year's grave 
Are eloquent with the voice of life and hope — 
And the green trees clap their rejoicing hands. 
Waving in triumph o'er the earth's decay ! 
Yet not alone shall flower and forest raise 
The voice of triumph and the hymn of life. 
The insect brood are there ! — each painted wing 
That flutters in the sunshine, broke but now 
From the close cerements of a worm's own shroud, 
Is telling, as it flies, how life may spring 
In its glad beauty from the gloom of death- 
22 



254 ELOCUTION. 

Where the crushed mould beneath the sunken foot 

Seems but the sepulchre of old decay, 

Turn thou a keener glance, and thou shalt find 

The gathered myriads of a mimic world. 

The breath of evening and the sultry morn 

Bears on its wing a cloud of witnesses. 

That earth from her unnumbered caves of death 

Sends forth a mightier tide of teeming life. 

Raise then the Hymn to Immortality ! 

The broad green prairies and the wilderness, 

And the old cities where the dead have slept, 

Age upon age, a thousand graves in one, 

Shall yet be crowded with the living forms 

Of myriads, waking from the silent dust. 

Kings that lay down in state, and earth's poor slaves, 

Resting together in one fond embrace. 

The white-haired patriarch and the tender babe, 

Gjjown old together in the flight of years. 

They of immortal fame and they whose praise 

Was never sounded in the ears of men, — 

Archon and priest, and the poor common crowd, — 

All the vast concourse in the halls of death, — 

Shall waken from the dreams of silent years 

To hail the dawn of the immortal day. 

Aye, learn the lesson. Though the worm shall be, 
Thy brother in the mystery of death. 

And all shall pass, humble and proud and gay 

Together, to earth's mighty charnel-house, 

Yet the Immortal is thy heritage ! 

The grave shall gather thee : yet thou shalt come, 

Beggar or prince, not as thou wentest forth 

In rags or purple, but arrayed as those 

Whose mortal puts on Immortality ! 

Then mourn not when thou markest the decay 

Of Nature, and her solemn hymn of death 

Steals with a note of sadness to thy heart. 

That other voice, with its rejoicing tones, 

Breaks from the mould with every bursting flower, 
*' grave ! thy victory ! " And thou, oh ! man, 

Burdened with sorrow at the woes that crowd 

Thy narrow heritage, lift up thy head 

In the strong hope of the undying life, 



SELECTIONS. — MEDIAN STRESS. 265 

And shout the Hymn to Immortality. 
The dear departed that have passed away 
To the still house of death, leaving thine own, 
The gray-haired sire that died in blessing thee, 
Mother, or sweet-lipped babe, or she who gave 
Thy home the light and bloom of Paradise, — 
They shall be thine again, when thou shalt pass, 
At God's appointment, through the shadowy vale, 
To reach the sunlight of the Immortal Hills. 
And thou that gloriest to lie down with kings. 
Thine uncrowned head not lowlier than theirs, 
Seek thou the loftier glory to be known 
A king and priest to God, — when thou shalt pass 
Forth from these silent walls to take thy place 
With patriarchs and prophets and the blest 
Gone up from every land to people heaven. 
So live, that when the mighty caravan, 
Which halts one night-time in the vale of Death, 
Shall strike its white tents for the morning march, 
Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills, 
Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed 
Like the strong eagle's for the upward flight ! 



ODE. William Wordsworth. 

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

The child is Father of the Man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. 
The earth, and every common sight. 

To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light. 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore ; 

Turn wheresoe'er I may, 

By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 

The Rainbow comes and goes. 
And lovely is the Rose, 
The Moon doth with delight 



256 ELOCUTION". 

Look round her when the Heavens are bare ; 
Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 

Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, 
And while the young Lambs bound — 
As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief : 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong: 
The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; 
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep. 
And all the land is gay ; 

Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every Beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou Child of Joy, 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
Shepherd Boy ! 

Ye blessed Creatures, 1 have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your Jubilee ; 

My heart is at your festival, 
. My head hath its coronal, 
The fulness of your bliss I feel- — I feel it all. 

Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 

"While*the Earth herself is adorning 
This sweet May-morning, 

And the Children are pulling. 
On every side. 

In a thousand valleys far and wide, 

Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm. 
And the Babe leaps up on his mother's arm: — 

1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 

But there is a Tree, of many one, 
A single Field which I have looked upon, 



SELECTIONS. — MEDIAN STEESS. 257 

Both, of tliem speak of something that is gone : 

The Pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat : 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting. 
And Cometh from afar, 

Not in entire forgetfulness. 

And not in utter nakedness, 
■But trailing clouds of glory do we come, 

From God, who is our home: 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close ' 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the East 

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die away. 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind. 
And, even with something of a Mother's mind 

And no unworthy aim. 

The homely Nurse doth all she can 
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses. 
With light upon him from his Father's eyes! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 
Some fragment from his dream of human life. 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art, 
22* ^ 



258 ELOCUTION". 

A wedding or a festirsil, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 
And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song : 
Then will be fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little Actor cons another part ; 
Filling from time to time his " humorous stage" 
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
That life brings with her in her Equipage; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy Soul's immensity ; 
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage ; thou Eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — 

Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! 

On whom those truths do rest. 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find. 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
Broods like the day, a Master o'er a Slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by ; 
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the night 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bi'ing the inevitable yoke. 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight. 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 

joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, " 

That nature yet remembers 

What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed, 
Perpetual benediction : not indeed, 



SELECTIONS. — MEDIAN STRESS. 259 

For that which is most worthy to be blest ; 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : 
Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things. 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
Blank misgivings of a Creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts before which our mortal Nature, 
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised : 
But for those first afi'ections, 
'Those shadowy recollections, 
Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moment's in the being 
Of the eternal Silence ; truths that wake 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor Man nor Boy, 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather, 
Though inland far we be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea, 
Which brought us hither. 
Can in a moment travel thither. 
And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 

And let the young Lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng, 

Ye that pipe and ye that play. 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight, 



260 ELOCUTION". 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower ^ 

We will grieve not, rather find 

Strength in what remains behind ; 

In the primal sympathy 

Which having been must ever be; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering ; 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

And 0, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
• I only have relinquished one delight. 
To live beneath your more habitual sway, 
I loved the Brooks which down their channels fret. 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; 
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day, 

Is lovely yet ; 
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears. 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that too o.ften lie too deep for tears. 



EXTRACT FROM "THE RECONCILER.". Bora Greenwell. 

Our dreams are reconciled, 
Since Thou didst come to turn them all to Truth ; 
The World, the Heart, are dreamers in their youth 

Of visions beautiful, and strange and wild ; 
And Thou, our Life's Interpreter, dost still 
At once make clear these visions and' fulfil; 

Each dim, sweet Orphic rhyme, 

Each mythic tale sublime 
Of strength to save, of sweetness to subdue, 

Each morning dream the few. 
Wisdom's first lovers told, if read in Thee comes true. 



SELECTIONS.— MEDIAN STRESS. 261 

Thou, Friend 
From heaven, that maclest this our heart Thine own, 
Dost pierce the broken language of its moan '-^ 
Thou dost not seorn our needs, but satisfy ! 
Each yearning deep and wide, 
Each claim is justified ; 
Our young illusions fail not, though they die 

Within the brightness of Thy Rising, kissed 
To happy death, like early clouds that lie 

About the gates of Dawn, — a golden mist 
Paling to blissful white, through rose and amethyst. 

The World that puts Thee by, 
That opens not to greet Thee with Thy train. 

That sendeth after Thee the sullen cry, 
"We will not have Thee over us to reign ; " 
Itself doth testify through searchings vain 
Of Thee and of its need, and for the good 
It will not, of some-base similitude 
Takes up a taunting witness, till its mood. 
Grown fierce o'er failing hopes, doth rend and tear 
Its own illusions grown too thin and bare 
To wrap it longer ; for within the gate 
Where all must pass, a veiled and hooded Fate, 
A dark Chimera, coiled and tangled lies, 
And he who answers not its question dies, — 
Still changing form and speech, but with the 
Vexed riddles, Gordian-twisted, bringing shame 
Upon the nations that with eager cry 
Hail each new solver of the mystery ; 

Yet he, of these the best. 

Bold guesser, hath but prest 
Most nigh to Thee, our noisy plaudits wrong; 

True Champion, that hast wrought 

Our help of old, and brought 
Meat from this eater, sweetness from this strong, 

* Bearer of the key 
That shuts and opens with a sound so sweet 
Its turning in the wards is melody. 
All things we move among are incomplete 
And vain until we fashion them in Thee ! 



262 ELOCUTION. 

We labor in the fire, 

Tjiick smoke is round about us, tlirougli the din 
Of words'that darken counsel, clamors dire 

Ring from thought's beaten anvil, where within 
Two giants toil, that even from their birth 
With travail-pangs have torn their mother Earth, 
And wearied out her children with their keen 
Upbraidings of the other, till between 
Thou earnest, saying, " Wherefore do ye wrong 
Each other? ye are Brethren." Then these twain 
Will own their kindred, and in Thee retain 
Their claims in peace, because Thy land is wide 
As it is goodly ! here they pasture free, 
This lion and this leopard, side by side, 
A little child doth lead them with a song ; 
Now Ephraim's envy ceaseth, and no more 
Doth Judah anger Ephraim chiding sore, 
For one did ask a Brother, one a King, 
So dost Thou gather them in one, and bring — 
Thou, King forevermore, forever Priest, 
Thou, Brother of our own from bonds released — 

A Law of Liberty, 

A Service making free, 
A Commonweal where each has all in Thee. 

And not alone these wide, 
Deep-planted yearnings, seeking with a cry 
Their meat from God, in Thee are satisfied j 
But all our instincts waking suddenly 
Within the soul, like infants from their sleep 
That stretch their arms into the dark and weep, 
Thy voice can still. The stricken heart bereft 
Of all its brood of singing hopes, and left 
'Mid leafless boughs, a cold, forsaken nest 
With snow-flakes in it, folded in Thy breast 
Doth lose its deadly chill ; and grief that creeps 
Unto Thy side for shelter, finding there 
The wound's deep cleft, forgets its moan, and weeps 
Calm, quiet tears, and on Thy forehead Care 
Hath looked until its thorns, no longer bare. 
Put forth pale roses. Pain on Thee doth press 
Its quivering cheek, and all the weariness. 



SELECTIONS. — VARIETIES OF STKESS. 263 

The -want that keep their silence, till from Thee 
They hear the gracious summons, none beside 
Hath spoken to the world-worn, "Come to me," 
Tell forth their heavy secrets. 

Thou dost hide 
These in Thy bosom, and not these alone, 
But all our heart'-s fond treasure that had grown 
A burden else : Saviour, tears were weighed 
To Thee in plenteous measure ! none hath shown 
That Thou did'st smile! yet hast Thou surely made 
. All joy of ours Thine own ; 

Thou madest us for Thine ; 
We seek amiss, we wander to and fro ; 
Yet are we ever on the track Divine ; 
The soul confesseth Thee, but sense is slow 
To' lean on aught but that which it may see ; 
So hath it crowded up these Courts below 
With dark and broken images of Thee ; 
Lead Thou us forth upon Thy Mount, and show 
Thy goodly patterns, whence these things of old 
By Thee were fashioned ; One though manifold. 
Gloss Thou Thy perfect likeness in the soul, 
Show us Thy countenance, and we are whole ! 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE DIFFERENT VARIETIES OF STRESS. 

HORATIIIS. Macaulay. 

(at the bridge,) 



Hew down the bridge. Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play. 
In yon strait path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three. 
Now, who will stand on either hand. 

And keep the bridge with me?" 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius, 

A Ramnian proud was he : 
' Lo, I will stand on thy right hand, 
And keep the bridge with thee." 



264 ELOCUTION. 

And out spake strong Herminius, 
Of Titian blood was -he : 
"I will abide on thy left side, 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

" Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
*' As thou sayest, so let it be." 
And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauntless Three. 
For Romans in Rome's quarrel 
Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son, nor wife, nor limb, nor life, 
In the brave days of old. 



Now, while the Three were tightening 

Their harness on their backs, 
The Consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an axe ; 
And Fathers mixed with Commons, 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow. 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props below. 

Meanwhile the Tuscan army. 

Right glorious to behold, 
Game flashing back the noonday light. 
Rank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee. 
As that great host, with measured tread, 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 

Where stood the dauntless Three. 

The Three stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes. 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose : 
And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that mighty mass; 



SELECTIONS. — VARIETIES OF STRESS. 265 

To earth they sprang, their swords they drew 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 
To win the narrow pass. 



But all Etruria's noblest 

Felt their hearts sink to see 
On the earth the bloody corpses, 

In the path the dauntless Three : 
And, from the ghastly entrance 

Where those bold Romans stood, 
All shrank, like boys who unaware, 
Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 

Lies amidst bones and blood. 

Was none who would be foremost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried "Forward!" 

And those before cried "Back!" 
And backward now and forward 

Wavers the deep array; 
And on the tossing sea of steel, 
To and fro the standards reel; 
And the victorious trumpet-peal 

Dies fitfully away. 

Yet one man for one moment 

Strode out before the crowd; 
Well known was he to all the Three, 

And they gave him greeting loud. 
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! 

Now welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away? 

Here lies the road to Rome." 

Thrice looked he on the city; 

Thrice looked he on the dead; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread ; 
And, white with fear and hatred, 

Scowled at the narrow way 
23 



266 ELOCUTION. 

Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 
The bravest Tuscans lay. 

But meanwhile axe and lever 

Have manfully been plied, 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 
Above the boiling tide. 
** Come back, come back, Hpratius ! " 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 
'* Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 

Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 

Herminius darted back: 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces, 

And on the farther shore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone. 

They would have crossed once more. 

But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam. 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream: 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

And like a horse unbroken 

When first he feels the rein, 
The furious river struggled hard, 

And tossed his tawny mane ;, 
And burst the curb, and bounded, 

Rejoicing to be free; 
And whirling down, in fierce career, 
Battlement, and plank, and pier. 

Rushed headlong to the sea. 

Alone stood brave Horatius, 
But constant still in mind; 

.Thrice thirty thousand foes before. 
And the broad flood behind. 



SELECTIONS. — VAEIETIES OF STKESS. 267 

''Downwitli him!" cried false Sextus, 

With a smile on his pale face. 
"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 
"Now yield thee to our grace." 

Round turned he, as not deigning 

Those craven ranks to see ; 
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, ^ 

To Sextus naught spake he ; 
But he saw on Palatinus 

The white porch of his home ; 
And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome. 

"Oh, Tiber! father Tiber! . 

To whom the Romans pray, 
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, • 

Take thou in charge this day ! " 
So he spake, and speaking sheathed 

The good sword by his side. 
And, with his harness on his back, 

Plunged headlong in the tide. 

No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heard from either bank ; 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise. 
With parted lips and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank; 
And when above the surges 

They saw his crest appear, 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
And even the ranks of Tuscany 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

But fiercely ran the current, 

Swollen high by months of rain : 
And fast his blood was flowing; 

And he was sore in pain, 
And heavy with his armour. 

And spent with changing blows : 
And oft they thought him sinking, 

But still again he rose. 

Never, I ween, did swimmer. 
In such an evil case. 



268 ELOCUTION". 

struggle through such a raging flood 

Safe to the landing-place: 
But his limbs were borne up bravely 

By the brave heart within, 
And our good father Tiber 

Bare bravely up his chin. 

"Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus, 
"Will not the villain drown? 
But for this stay, ere close of day 
We should have sacked the town ! " 
"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, 
"And bring him safe to shore; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 
Was never seen before." 
• 
And now he feels the bottom ; 

Now on dry earth he stands, 
Now round him throng the Fathers 

To press his gory hands ; 
And now with shouts and clapping, 

And noise of weeping loud, 
He enters through the River-gate, 
Borne by the joyous crowd 

THE RAVEN. Edgar A. Poe. 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door : 
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — 

Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom tlie angels name Lenore — 

Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; 



SELECTIONS. — VAKIETIES OF STKESS. 269 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 
*' 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ; 

This it is and nothing more." 

Presently ray soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, 
*' Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you," — here I opened wide the 
door ; — 

Darkness there and nothing more. " 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, 

fearing. 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 
But the'silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token. 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ' ' Lenore ! " 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore! " 

Merely this and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. 
*' Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window lattice ; 
Let me. see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore — 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ; — 

'Tis the wind and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter.. 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling. 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure 

no craven. 
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly 

shore — 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 
23* 



270 _ ELOCUTION 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 
For vre cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door — 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 

With such name as "Nevermore." 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown 

before — 
On the morrow he will leave me as my hopes have flown before." 

Then the bird said " Nevermore." 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore — 
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 

Of ' Never — nevermore ! ' " 

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling. 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and 

door ; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er 

She shall press, ah, nevermore ! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 

censer 
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor, 
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee, by these angels he 

hath sent thee. 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh quaff- this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



SELECTIONS. — VAKIETIES OF STRESS. 271 

4 

"Propliet!" said I, '' thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil ! — 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? tell me — tell me, I implore ! " 

Quoth the Eaven, " Nevermore." 

"Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall- clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, 

upstarting — 
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my 

door!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the 

floor; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



EXCELSIOR. Henry W. Longfellow. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
Ab through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device 
Excelsior! 

His brow was sad; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath, 
And like- a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ; 



272 ELOCUTION". 

'<> 

In nappy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the Pass ! " the old man said ; 
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied 
Excelsior ! 

"0 stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height. 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray. 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior 



SELECTIONS. — VARIETIES OF STRESS. 273 



CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Alfred Tennyson. 
• 1. 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
<< Charge," was the captain's cry; 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs but to do and die, 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 



Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon in front of them. 

Volley 'd and thunder' d; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

3. 

Flash'd all their sabres bare, 
Flash'd all at once in air, 
Sabring the gunners there. 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wonder'd : 
Plunged in the battery smoke, 
Fiercely the line they broke; 
Strong was the sabre-stroke : 
Making an army reel 

Shaken and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not, 

Not the six hundred. 

4. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 

S 



274 ELOCUTION'. 

Cannon behind them, 

Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
Storni'd at with shot and shell, 
They that had struck so well , 

Rode through the jaws of Death, 
Half a league back again. 
Up from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them. 

Left of six hundred. 

5. 
Honor the brave and bold! 
Long shall the tale be told. 
Yea, when our babes are old — 
How they rode onward. 

LOCHIEL'S WARNING. Thomas CamphelU 

WIZARD. LOCHIEL. 

Wizard. 
Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my eight. 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
Wo, wo, to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-fiashing lightning of war. 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
'Tis thine, oh Grlenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh, weep ! but thy* tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. 
Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 



SELECTIONS. — VARIETIES OF STRESS. 275 



Wizai'd. 
Ha ! laugh'st thou, LocMel, my vision to scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah! home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might. 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel. 
False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clan ; 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! " 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock I 
But wo to his kindred, and wo to his cause. 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — — 

Wizard. 
— Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; 
•For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal; 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, 



276 ELOCUTION. 

Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! 

Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps fi-om my sight : 

Eise, Rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 

'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors: 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ; 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? 

Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 

His death-bell is tolling : oh ! mercy, dispel 

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 

Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet. 

When his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 

LocMel. 
— Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale : 
For never shall Alb in a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains. 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low. 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name. 
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

SCENE FROM "HAMLET.'^ Shakespeare. 

Polonius. He will come strait. Look, you lay home to him : 
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with ; • 
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between 
Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
Pray you be round with him. 

Queen. I '11 warrant you ; 

Fear me not: — withdraw, I hear himcoming. 

Polonius hides himself. 
Enter Hamlet. 



SELECTION'S. — VAKIETIES OF STRESS. 277 

Ham. Now, mother ; what 's the matter ? 

Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 

Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? 

Ezm. What's the matter now? 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so : 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; 
And, — would it were not so! — you are my mother. 

Queen. Nay, then, I '11 send those to you that can speak. 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; 
You go not, till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder me ? 
Help, help, ho ! 

Ham. Leave wringing of your hands : Peace, sit you down, 
And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
If damned custom have not braz'd it so, 
That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Ham. Such an act 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
Calls virtue, hypocrite ; and takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love. 
And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
As false as dicers' oaths : 0, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow, 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me ! what act. 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this! 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
24 



278 ELOCUTION. 

Hyperion's curls , the front of Jove himself ; 

An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 

A station like the herald Mercury, 

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 

A combination, and a form, indeed. 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, . 

To give the world assurance of a man : 

This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows: 

Etere is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear, 

Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 

And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 

Yon cannot call it love : * for, at your age, 

The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble. 

And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment 

Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have, 

Else, could you not have motion : But sure, that sense 

Is appoplex'd : for madness would not err ; 

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd. 

But it reserv'd some quantity of choice. 

To serve in such a difference. What devil was't. 

That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind ? 

Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 

Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 

Or but a sickly part of one true sense 

Could not so mope. 

shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious hell. 

If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones. 

To flaming youth let virtue be as wax. 

And melt in her own fire ; proclaim no shame, 

When the compulsive ardor gives the charge : 

Since frost itself as actively doth burn. 

And reason panders will 

Queen. 0, speak to me no more ; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
No more, sweet Hamlet. 

ffam. A murderer, and a villain : 

A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe 
Of your precedent lord: — a vice of king's: 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more. 



SELECTIONS. — VAEIETIES OF STRESS. 279 

[Enter Ghost.) 

Ham. A king 

Of shreds and patches : — 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious figure ? 

Queen. Alas ! he 's mad. 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide., 
That, laps'd in fume and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
0, say. 

Ghost. Do not forget : This visitation 
Is hut to whet thy -almost blunted purpose. 
But look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
0, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works : 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 

Queen. Alas, how is 't with you ? 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy. 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
And as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm. 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
Starts up, and stands on end. gentle son. 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he glares ! 
His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones. 
Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me ; 
Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
My stern eff"ects : then what I have to do 
Will want true color ; tears, perchance, for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 

Ham. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear ? 

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it steals away ! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 

lExit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 



280 ELOCUTION". 

This bodiless creation, ecstasy- 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy ! 
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
And makes as healthful music ; It is not madness, 
That I have uttered: bring me to the test, 
And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Hepent what's past : avoid what is to come; 
And do not spread the compost on the weeds 
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue : 
For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg : 
Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 

Queen. Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 

Ham. throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 

THE AMERICAN FLAG. J. Rodman Drake. 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurl'd her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night. 

And set the stars of glory there ; 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white, 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
She call'd her eagle-bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form. 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 



SELECTIONS. — VAKIETIES OF STRESS. 281 

And rolls the thunder- drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone. 
And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere ye't the life-blood, warm and wet. 
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet. 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And as his springing steps advance. 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.; 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall, 
• Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall; 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow. 
And cowering foes shall sink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendours fly 

In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free hearts' hope and home. 

By angel hands to valor given ; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 

24^ ■ 



282 ELOCUTION*. 

Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe that falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? 

THE MANTLE OF ST. JOHN DE HATHA. 

John G. Whittier. 
A LEGEND OF "THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE." A. D. 1154-1864. 

A strong and mighty Angel, 

Calm, terrible and bright. 
The cross in blended red and blue 

Fpon his mantle white! 

Two captives by him kneeling, 

Each on his broken chain. 
Sang praise to God who raiseth 

The dead to life again ! 

Dropping his cross-wroughf,. mantle, 
"Wear this," the Angel said; 
**Take thou, Freedom's priest, its sign, — 
The white, the blue, and red." 

Then rose up John de Matha 

In the strength the Lord Christ gave. 

And begged through all the land of France 
The ransom of the slave. 

The gates of tower and castle 

Before him open flew, 
The drawbridge at his coming fell, 

The door-bolt backward drew. 

For all men owned his errand, 

And paid his righteous tax; 
And the hearts of lord and peasant 

Were in his hands as wax. 

At last, outbound from Tunis, 

His bark her anchor weighed, 
Freighted with seven score Christian souls 

Whose ransom he had paid. 

But, torn by Paynim hatred, 
Her sails in tatters hung ; 



SELECTIONS. — VAEIETIES OF STKESS. 283 

And on tlie wild waves rudderless, 
A shattered hulk she swung. 

*' God save us ! " cried the captain, 
"For nought can man avail : 
0, woe betide the ship that lacks 
Her rudder and her sail ! 

"Behind us are the Moormen; 
At sea. we sink or strand : 
There 's death upon the water, 
There 's death upon the land ! " . 

Then up spake John de Matha : 

"God's errands never fail! 
Take thou the mantle which I wear. 
And make of it a sail." 

They raised the cross-wrought mantle, 

The Mue, the white, the red; 
And -strait before the wind off-shore 

The ship of Freedom sped. 

"God help us!" cried the seamen, 
" For vain is mortal skill ; 
The good ship on a stormy sea 
Is drifting at its will." 

Then up spake John de Matha : 
" My mariners, never fear ! 
The Lord whose breath has filled her sail 
May well our vessel steer ! " 

So on through storm and darkness 

They drove for weary hours ; 
And lo ! the third gray morning shone 

On Ostia's friendly towers. 

And on the walls the watchers 

The ship of mercy knew, — 
They knew far off its holy cross, 

The red, the white, and blue. 

And the bells in all the steeples 
Eang out in glad accord, 



284: ELOCUTION". 

To welcome home to Christian soil 

The ransomed of the Lord- 
So runs the ancient legend 

By bard and painter told ; 
And lo! the cycle rounds again, 
The new is as the old! 

"With rudder fouly broken, 
■ And sails by traitors torn, 
Our country on a midnight sea 
Is waiting for the morn. 

Before her, nameless terror ; 

Behind, the pirate foe; 
The clouds are black above her, 

The sea is white below. 

The hope of all who suffer, 
The dread of all who wrong, 

She drifts in darkness and in storm, 
How long, Lord ! how long ? 

But courage, my mariners ! 

Ye shall not suffer wreck. 
While up to God the freedman's prayers 

Are rising from your deck. 

Is not your sail the banner 
Which God hath blest anew. 

The mantle that de Matha wore, 
The red, the white, the blue? 

Its hues are all of heaven, — 

The red of sunset's dye, 
The whiteness of the moonlit cloud, 

The blue of morning's sky. 

Wait cheerily, then, mariners, 
For daylight and for land ; 

The breath of God is on your sail, 
Your rudder in His hand. 

Sail on, sail on, deep freighted 
With blessings and with hopes; 



SELECTIONS. — VAKIETIES OF STKESS. 285 

Tlie saints of old with shadowy hands 
Are pulling at your ropes. 

Behind ye holy martyrs 

Uplift the palm and crown; 
Before ye unborn ages send 

Their benedictions down. 

Take heart from John de Matha! — 

God's errands never fail! 
Sweep on through storm and darkness, 

The thunder and the hail! 

Sail on ! The morning cometh, 

The port ye yet shall win ; 
And all the bells of God shall ring 

The good ship bravely in! 

SHERIDAN'S RIDE. Thos. Buchanan Read. 

Up from the South at break of day, 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 

The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 

Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 

The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 

Telling the battle was on once more, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still these billows of war 

Thundered along the horizon's bar. 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 

Making the blood of the listener cold 

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway leading down ; 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 

A steed, as black as the steeds of night, 

Was seen to pass with eagle flight — 

As if -he knew the terrible need, 

He stretched away with 'his utmost speed ;• 

Hill rose and fell — but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 



286 ELOCUTION. 

still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, 
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, 
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster, 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster ; 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls : 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape fled away behind 

Like an ocean flying before the wind ; 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 

Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 

But lo ! he is nearing Ms heart's desire — 

He is snuf&ng the smoke of the roaring fray. 

With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the General saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; — 
What was done — what to do — a glance told him both ; 
Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas. 
And the wave of retreat checked its course there because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray ; 
By the flash of his eye and his red nostrils' play 
He seemed to the whole great army to say : 
" I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester down to save the day." 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Sheridan ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for horse and man ! 
And when their statues are placed on high 
Under the dome of the Union sky, 
The American soldier's Temple of Fame, 
There with the glorious G-eneral's name, 
Be it said in letters both bold and bright: 
" Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 
From Winchester — twenty miles away ! " 



SELECTIONS. — VARIETIES OF STRESS. 287 

BARBARA PRIETCHIE. John G, Whittier. 

Up from the meadows ricli with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished Rebel horde. 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall, — 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down; 

In her attic-window the st9,ff she set. 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the Rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson i^iding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

** Halt! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast 
«* Fire ! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken stafi", 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf ; 

She leaned far out on the window-sill. 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 



288 ELOCUTION. 

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word : 

*< Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good night. 
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law ; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town 

THE BATTLE OF IVRY. Thomas Bahington Macaulay. 

" Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed 
by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assist- 
ance of Spain and Savoy. In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory 
over that party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops, ' My 
children, if you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume — you 
will always find it in the path to honor and glory.' His conduct was an- 
swerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and 
the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the 
rout, Henry followed, crying, 'Save the French!' and his clemency added 
a number of the enemies to his army." 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! 
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, Bang Henry of Navarre ! 



SELECTIONS. — VAEIETIES OF STRESS. 289 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land 

of France! 
And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy. 
For cold, and stifi^, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war ; 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for lyry and King Henry of Navarre ! 

Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears! 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre. 

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest. 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest: 
He looked upon his people, and a tear wa's in his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 
Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the 

King!" - 
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — 
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war, 
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! 
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain. 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance ! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; 
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 
26 T 



290 ELOCUTION. 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hatn turned Ms 
rein, 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — The Flemish Count is slain; 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; 
The -field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail; 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, 
"Remember St. Bartholomew ! " was passed from man to man ; 
But out spake gentle Henry then, — "No Frenchman is my foe ; 
Down, downwith every foreigner, but let your brethren go." 
Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! 
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return; 
Ho ! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles. 
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls ; 
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ! 
Ho ! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! 
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, 
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. 
Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are ! 
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre ! 

THE GREAT BELL ROLAND.* Theodore Tilton. 

SUGGESTED BY PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S FIRST CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS. 



Toll! Roland, toll! 
In old St. Bavon's Tower, 
At midnight hour, 
The great Bell Roland spoke, 
And all who slept in Ghent awoke. 
What meant the thunder-stroke ? 
Why trembled wife and maid ? 
Why caught each man his blade? 
Why echoed every street . 
With tramp of thronging feet — 

All flying to the city's wall? 

It was the warning call 



* The famous Bell Roland, of Ghent, was an object of great affection to 
the people, because it rang to arm them when Liberty was in danger. 



SELECTIONS. — VARIETIES OF STRESS. 291 

That Freedom stood in peril of a foe ! 

And timid hearts grew bold 

Whenever Roland tolled, 

And every hand a sword could hold, 
And every arm could bend a bow! 

So acted men 

Like patriots then — 
Three hundred years ago ! 



Toll! Roland, toll! 
Bell never yet was hung, 
Between whose lips there swung 
So grand a tongue! 

If men be patriots still, 

At thy first sound, 

True hearts will bound. 

Great souls will thrill ! 
Then toll, and let thy test 
Try each man's breast 
Till true and false shall stand confest! 

III. 
Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
Not now in old St. Bavon's tower — 
Not now at midnight hour — 
Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee, 
But here — this side the sea! — 
Toll here, in broad, bright day ! 
For not by night awaits 
A foe without the gates. 
But perjured friends within betray. 
And do the deed at noon! 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
Thy sound is not too soon! 
To arms ! Ring out the Leader's call ! 

Toll! Roland, toll! 
Till cottager from cottage-wall 
Snatch pouch and powd«r-horn and gun, 
The heritage of sire to son 
Ere half of Freedom's work was done. 
Toll ! Roland, toll ! 



292 ELOCUTION. 

Till swords from scabbards leap! 
Toll! Roland, toll ! 
Wbat tears can widows weep 
Less bitter than when brave men fall ! 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
In shadowed hut and hall 
Shall lie the soldier's pall, 
And hearts shall break while graves are filled ; 
Amen ! so God hath willed ! 

And may his grace anoint us all! 

IV. 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
The Dragon on thy tower 
Stands sentry to this hour ; 

And Freedom so is safe in Ghent I 
And merrier bells now ring, 

And in the land's content 
Men shout "God save the King!" 
Until the skies are rent ! 
So let it be! 
A kingly King is he 
Who keeps his people free! 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
Ring out across the sea ! 
No longer They but We 
Have now such need of thee ! 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
Nor ever let thy throat 
Keep dumb its warning note 
Till Freedom's perils he outbraved! 
Toll! Roland, toll! 
Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved. 
Shall shadow not a man enslaved ! 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
From Northern lake to Southern strand ! 

Toll! Roland, toll! 

Till friend and foe, at thy command, 

Shall clasp again each other's hand, 

And shout one-voiced, " God save the land! '* 

And love the land that God hath saved! 

Toll ! Roland, toll ! 



SELECTIOKS.— VAKIETIES OF STRESS. 293 

LAUS DEO ! . John G. Whittier. 

ON HEARING THE BELLS RING ON THE PASSAGE OF THE CONSTITUTIONAIi 
AMENDMENT ABOLISHING SLAVERY. 

It is done ! 

Clang of bell and roar of gun 
Send the tidings up and down. 

How the belfries rock and reel ! 

How the great guns peal on peal, 
Fling the joy from town to town ! 

King, bells ! 

Every stroke exulting tells 
Of the burial hour of crime. 

Loud and long, that all may hear, 

Ring for every listening ear 
Of Eternity and Time ! 

Let us kneel : 

God's own voice is in that peal, 
And this spot is holy ground. 

Lord, forgive us ! What are we. 

That our eyes this glory see, 
That our ears have heard the sound! 

For the Lord 

On the whirlwind is abroad ; 
In the earthquake he has spoken; 

He has smitten with his thunder 

The iron walls asunder. 
And the gates of brass are broken ! 

Loud and long 
Lift the old exulting song ; 
Sing with Miriam by the sea, 
He has cast the mighty down ; . 
Horse and rider sink and drown ; 
** He hath triumphed gloriously ! " 

Did we dare 
In our agony of prayer, 
Ask for more than He has done ? 
When was ever His right hand 
Over any time or land 
Stretched as now beneath the sun ? 
25* 



294 ELOCUTION". 

How the.j^ pale, 
Ancient myth and song and tale, 

In this wonder of our days. 
When the cruel rod of war 
Blossoms white with righteous law, 

And the wrath of man is praise ! 

Blotted out! 
All within and all about 

Shall a fresher life begin ; 
Freer breathe the universe * 
As it rolls its heavy curse 

On the dead and buried sin ! 

It is done ! 
In the circuit of the sun 

Shall the sound thereof go forth. 
It shall bid the sad rejoice, 
It shall give the dumb a voice, 

[t shall belt with joy the earth! 

Ring and swing, 
Bells of joy ! On morning's wing 

Sound the song of praise abroad ! 
"With a sound of broken chains 
Tell the nations that He reigns, 

Who alone is Lord and God! 



PAUSES. 295 



PAUSES. 

Pauses are the intervals produced between words, clauses, 
sentences, and paragraphs, by those divisions of utterance 
which correspond to the divisions of meaning. 

When a pause is made after any mark of punctuation, it is called 
a Grammatical or Sentential Pause. 

A pause required simply by the sentiment is called a Ehetorical 
Pause. 

The frequency with wliich pauses are to be introduced, must be 
determined by the sentiment. There may be the mark of punctua- 
tion, unnoticed in the reading, — as in the example, "Yes, sir!" 
pronounced like a word of two syllables, accented on the first ; — 
or there may be a long rhetorical pause where no grammatical stop 
is used, — as, "Leave Marmion here alone ... to die," 

"Vocal pauses are uniformly the result of emphasis, every emphatic 
word having, as it were, an attractive power, by which it clusters round it 
more or less of the words preceding or following it. The cessation of the 
voice, called a pause, is but a natural and necessary consequence of the 
organic eflfort used in uttering such a collection of sounds, embracing, as it 
always does, at least one syllable which demands a great impulse of the 
organs, and exhausts, in some cases of great energy in language, the sup- 
ply of breath required for utterance." — Russell. 

"A Pause is often more eloquent than words." 

A pause is generally made before or after an emphatic 
word; as, 

"A judicious silence ... is always better than truth spoken 
without charity." — Francis de Sales. 

A slight pause is generally required between the nomi- 
native and the verb, particularly when the nominative has 
an adjunct prefixed, or the verb an adjunct affixed ; as, 
"A thing of beauty ... is a joy forever." — Keats. 

Parenthetical or intervening phrases are separated from, 
the rest of the sentence by pauses ; as, 

"Be noble! and the nobleness that lies 
In other men, . . . sleeping, but never dead, . . . 
Will rise in majesty to meet thine own." — James Russell Lowell. 



296 ELOCUTION. 

A short pause takes place where the parts of a sentence 
might he transposed ; as, 

' Where we disavow 
Being keeper to our brother, , . . we're his Cain." — 3Irs. Browning 

Relative pronouns, conjunctions, prepositions, adverbs, 
and all other paris of speech used for transition or con- 
nection, are preceded by a short pause ; as, 

"Keep thy spirit pure . . . 
From worldly taint ... by the repellent strength . . . 
Of virtue." — Philip James Bailey. 

The conjunction but, when used in descriptive or argu- 
mentative passages, generally requires a short pause after 
it; as, 

"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is 
easy in solitude to live after our own ; but . . . the great man is he 
who, in the midst of the crowd, keeps with perfect sweetness the 
independence of solitude." — Emerson. 

In passionate passages, no pause is required after the disjunctive; as, 

"It is not linen you 're wearing out. 
But human creatures' lives." — Hood. 

A short pause takes place at an ellipsis or omission of 
words; as, 

"Remember so to regard the absent who are out of hearing as 
virtually under the protection of that law of Jewish charity — . . . 
[which says,) 

■ *Thou shalt not curse the deaf.' " 

When a maxim or quotation is introduced, it should be 
preceded by a short pause ; as, 

" This above all, ... To thine own self be true ; 
And it must follow, as the night the day. 
Thou canst not then be false to any man." — Shakespeare. 

"There is a well-known saying of Hobbes, the far-reaching, 
significance of which you will more and more appreciate in pro- 
portion to the growth of your own intellect : . . . ' Words are the 
counters of wise men, but the money of fools.' With the wise man 



PAUSES. 297 

a woi'd stands for tlie fact, which it represents ; to the fool it is" 
itself the fact " — John Stuart Mill. 

. A pause is used at a period, to mark the completion of 
sense ; as, 

" In every work of genixis we recognize our own rejected thoughts ; 
they come back to .us with a certain alienated majesty. . . . " — 
Emerson. 

A long pause — several times the usual length of that 
at a period — is required between paragraphs, particularly 
when these contain important divisions of a subject or a 
discourse. 

The comparative length of this pause depends upon the character 
of the subject, as grave and serious, or familiar and light, — and 
on the length and importance of paragraphs, as principal or sub- 
ordinate. In general it should not be shorter than twice the length 
of the pause usually made at a period. 

Pauses serve the double purpose of dividing what would tend to 
confuse the ear by the concurrence of incongruous sounds, — and 
of grouping together the different divisions of sense which natu- 
rally belong to each other, presenting both the sound and the sense 
more clearly and distinctly to the ear and mind. Pausing thus 
performs the same office to clauses and sentences that .syllabication 
does to words, serving to divide the sound into relative portions, 
and aiding to preserve clearness and distinctness between them. 

In equable and calm expression, the pauses are moderate ; in 
energetic language, when didactic or argumentative, the pauses 
are rendered long by the force of emphasis preceding them ; in 
strong and deep emotion, they run to the extremes of brevity and 
of length, as the tone of passion is abrupt and rapid, or slow and 
interrupted in utterance. Awe and solemnity are expressed by 
long cessations of the voice ; grief also, when deep and suppressed, 
requires frequent and long pauses. 

The common defect in regard to pauses, is, that they are made 
too short for clear and distinct expression. 

Feeble utterance, hurried articulation, and defective emphasis, 
generally combine to produce this fault in young readers and 
speakers ; the pauses being in proportion to the accustomed force 
of utterance, or energy of articulation and emphasis. 

"The manner of a good reader or speaker is distinguished by 
clearness, impressiveness, and dignity, arising from the full con- 



298 ELOCUTION. 

ception of meaning, and the d^eliberate and distinct expression of 
it ; while nothing is so indicative of a want of attention and self- 
command, and nothing so unhappy in its effect, as haste and con- 
fusion." 

-ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Very Short Pauses. ' 

" One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, — 

So light>to the saddle before her he sprung! 
< She is won ! — we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur ; 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar." 

LocHiNVAR. — Scott. 

" I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he : 
I galloped, Dirck galloped,- we galloped all three ; 

' Good speed ! ' cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ; 

'Speed ! ' echoed the wall to us galloping through; 
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest. 
And into the midnight we galloped abreast," 

How THEY BROUGHT THE GoOD NeWS FROM GhENT TO AlX. 

^Br owning. 

"Away! — away! — and on we dash! 
Torrents less rapid and less rash. ....... 

Away, away, my steed and I 

Upon the pinions of the wind. 

All human dwellings left behind : 
We sped like meteors through the sky. 
When with its crackling sound the night 
Is checkered with the northern light : — ..... 

From out the forest prance 

A trampling troop, — I see them come! 

A thousand horse — and none to ride ! — 
With flowing tail, and flying mane, 
Wide nostrils, never stretched by pain. 
Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, 
And feet that iron never shod. 
And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, — 
A thousand horse, — the wild, the free, — 
Like waves that follow o'er the sea, 



ILLUSTRATION-S. — SHORT PAUSES. 299 

Came thickly thundering on : — • 

They stop,^ — they start — they snuff the air, 

Gallop a moment here and there, 

Approach, retire, wheel round and round. 

Then plunging back with sudden bound, — . . . 

They snort, — they foam — neigh — swerve aside, 

And backward to the forest fly 

By instinct, from a human eye." — Mazeppa. — Byron. 

Short Pauses. 

"Genius rushes like a whirlwind — talent marches like a cavalcade 
of heavy men and heavy horses — cleverness skims like a swallow 
in the summer evening, with a Sharp shrill note, and a sudden 
turning. The man of genius dwells with men and with nature ; 
the man of talent in his study ; but the clever man dances here, 
there, and everywhere, like a butterfly in a hurricane, striking 
everything and enjoying nothing, but too light to be dashed to 
pieces." — Ilazlitt. 

"They come from beds of lichen green, 
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen ; 

Some on the backs of beetles fly 
From the silver tops of the moon-touched trees, 

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high. 
And rock'd about in the evening breeze ; 

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest — 
They had driven him out by elfin power. 

And, pillow'd on plumes of his rainbow breast, 
Had slumber'd there till the charmed hour ; 
' Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, 
With glittering ising-stars inlaid ; 

And some had opeh'd the four-o'clock. 
And stole within its purple shade. 

And now they throng the moonlight glade. 
Above — -below — on every side, 

Their little minim forms array' d 
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride 1 " . 

The Culprit Fat.— J". R. Drake. 

" Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 
Whilst the landscape round it measures ; 
Russet lawns-, and fallows gray. 



300 ELOCUTION-. 

Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 
Mountains on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest ; 
Meadows trim with daisies pied : 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide : 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosom'd high in tufted trees, 
Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
The Cynosure of neighboring eyes." 

L' Allegro. — Milton. 

Moderate Pauses. 

"A woman's voice can tell a long history of sorrow in a single 
word. This wonderful instrument, our voice, alters its timbre with 
every note it yields, as the face changes with every look, until at 
last the dominant emotion is master, and gives quality to tone and 
character to expression 

"Every look, tone, gesture of a man is a symbol of his complete 
nature. If we apply the microscope severely enough, we can dis- 
cern the fine organism by which the soul sends itself out in every 
act of the being. And the more perfectly developed the creature, 
the more significant, and yet the more mysterious, is every habit, 
and every motion mightier than habit, of body and soul." — Theo- 
dore Winthrop. 

"An outward blow, — the sudden ruin of a friendship which he 
[Robertson] had wrought, as he imagined, forever, into his being, 
— a blow from which he never afterwards wholly recovered, — ac- 
celerated the inward crisis, and the result was a period of spiritual 
agony so awful that it not only shook his health to its centre, but 
smote his spirit down into so profound a dai-kness, that of all his 
early faiths but one remained : ' It must^be right to do right.' He 
had passed up the hill Diflaculty with youthful ardor ; he had been 
glad in the beautiful house, and seen the Delectable Mountains from 
far ; he had gone down the hill with enthusiasm and pleasant 
thoughts ; but Apollyon met him in the valley, and broken by the 
battle, but unsubdued, he walked in tenfold gloom through the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death, with the fiends whispering dark 
doubts in his ears, till he half believed them to be his own, — 
stumbling and fainting, but ever going onwards, — till at last, 
emerging victorious, he went up upon the hills to see with clearer 
vision than before, through the glass of faith, the shining of the 
Celestial City." — Stopford A. Brooke. 



ILLUSTEATIONS. — MODERATE PAUSES. 301 

<' It is the sixteenth century. Beyond the ashes on the hill a red 
light is gathering ; above the falling of the dews a great sun is 
rising : there is a rushing of light and song upward — let it still be 
UPWAKD ! Shakespeare is in the world ! And the Genius of Eng- 
lish Poetry, she who only of all the earth is worthy (Goethe's spirit 
may hear us say so, and smile), stooping, with a royal gesture, to 
kiss the dead lips of the Genius of Greece, stands up her successor 
in the universe, by virtue of that chrism, and in right of her own 
crown." — Mrs. Browning 

" Forever unto thee we run, 
And give* ourselves away ; 
Like melting mists that seek the sun, 
Like night that seeks the day. 
To Nature do we turn, and minister. 
Because we were of old, a part of her. 
It is a recognition, 

A memory, an appealing ; 
An interchange of vision. 

An interchange of feeling ; 
A twofold love, within the linked scope 
Of backward-looking Memory, and forward-looking Hope ! 
The soul of man detects, and sympathizes 
With its old shapes of matter, long outworn ; 
And matter, too, to new sensations born, 
Detects the soul of man, with spiritual surprises." 

R. H. Stoddard. 

*'I have learned 
To look on Nature, not as in the hour 
Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity, 
Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power 
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 
A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean, and the living air, 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
A motion and a spirit, that impels 
All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls through all things." — Wordsivorth. 
26 



302 ' ELOCUTION". 

*'Our life is noble, Thou hast breathed its air; 
Death sweet, for Thou hast died. On Thy w&y home 
One night Thou sleep'st within the dreadful grave, 
And took away its fear." — Alexander Smith. 

"To toil, in tasks however mean, 

For all we know of right and true, — 
In this alone our worth is seen, 
'Tis this we were ordained to do. 

" So shalt thou find in work and thought 
The peace that sorrow cannot give. 
Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught, 
By thee let others noblier live." — John Sterling, 

"Then let the steeples rock, 

And the belfries shake and quiver, 
And the great bells clang and shock, 
^ And the small bells trill and shiver ! 

Let the smoking cannon boom, 

And the bending nation pray, 
And the mourners' dreadful doom 

Lift its shadow for a day ! 
Let us turn a face joy-clear 

Unto heaven, with one accord, 
And waft our victors' cheer 

Through our heroes to the Lord ! 
Bless His name, rejoicing men. 

For the bloody conflict's close, 
For good will restored again, 

For the balm that heals our woes ; 
For the ocean white with sails, 

And the rivers dim with steam, 
For the humble world that quails 

At our flag's triumphant gleam ; 
For the bounty of His hand 

In the teeming fields' increase. 
For the quiet in the land — 

For Union and Peace ! " — Geo. H Baker. 

" Greek — the shrine of the genius of the old world ; as universal 
as our race, as individual as ourselves : of infinite flexibility, of in- 
defatigable strength, with the complication and tha distinctness of 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — MODERATE PAUSES. 303 

nature herself: to which nothing was vulgar, from which nothing 
was excluded ; speaking to the ear like Italian, speaking to the 
mind like English ; with words like pictures, with words like the 
gossamer film of the summer ; at once the variety and picturesque- 
ncss of Homer, the gloom and intensity of JEschylus ; not com- 
pressed to the closest by Thucydides, not fathomed to the bottom 
by Plato, not sounding with all its thunders, nor lit up with all its 
ardors even under the Promethean touch of Demosthenes ! And 
Latin — the voice of Empire and of war, of law and of the State ; 
inferior to its half parent and rival in the embodying of passion 
and in the distinguishing of thought, but equal to it in sustaining 
the measured march of history and superior to it in the indignant 
declamation of moral satire ; stamped with the mark of an imperial 
and despotizing republic; rigid in its construction, parsimonious in 
its synonymes ; reluctantly yielding to the flowery yoke of Horace, 
although opening glimpses of Greek-like splendor in the occasional 
inspirations of Lucretius ; proved, indeed, to the uttermost by 
Cicero, and by him found wanting ; yet majestic in its bareness, 
impressive in its conciseness ; the true language of History, instinct 
with the spirit of nations, and not with the passions of individuals ; 
breathing the maxims of the world and not the truths of the schools ; 
one and uniform in its air and spirit, whether touched by the stern 
and haughty Sallust, by the open and discursive Livy, by the re- 
served and thoughtful Tacitus." — Henry Nelson Coleridge. - 

"There is a small but ancient fraternity in the woi-ld, known as 
the Order of Gentlemen. ... I cannot but distinguish some person- 
ages of far-off antiquity -as worthy members of this fellowship. I 
believe it coeval with man. But Christ stated the precept of the 
order when he gave the whole moral law in two clauses, — Love to 
God, and Love to the neighbour. Whoever has this precept so by 
heart that it shines through into his life, enters without question 
into the inner circles of the order. 

" But to protect itself against pretenders, this brotherhood, like 
any other, has its formulas, its pass-words, its shibboleths, even 
its uniform. These are external symbols. With some, the symbol 
is greater than the thing signified. The thing signified, the prin- 
ciple, is so beautiful, that the outward sign is enough to glorify any 
character. The demeanor of a gentleman — being art, the expression 
of an idea in form — can become property, Jike any art. It may 
be an heir-loom in an ancient house, like the portrait of the hero 
who gave a family name and fame, like the portrait of the maiden 



304 ^ ELOCUTION. 

martyr or th'e faithful wife, who made that name beloYed, that fame 
poetry, to all ages. This precious inheritance, like anything fine 
and tender, has sometimes been treated with oyer-care. Guardians 
have been so solicitous that a neophyte should not lose his inherited 
rank in the order of gentlemen, that they have forgotten to make a 
man of him. Culturing the flower, they have not thought to make 
the stalk sturdy, or even healthy. The demeanor of a gentleman 
may be possessed by a Aveakling, or even inherited by one whose 
heart is not worthy of his manners. 

"The formulas of this order are not edited; its pass-words are 
not syllabled ; its uniform was never pictured on a fashion-plate, or 
so described that a snob could go to his tailor, and say, ' Make me 
the habit of a gentleman.' But the brothers know each other un- 
erringly wherever they meet ; be they of the inner shrine, gentle- 
men, heart and life ; be they of the outer court, gentlemen in feeling 
and demeanor. 

" No disguise delays this recognition. No strangeness of place 
and circumstances prevents it. The men meet. The magnetism 
passes between* them. All is said without words. Gentlemen know 
gentlemen by what we name instinct. But observe that this thing, 
instinct, is character in 'its finest, keenest, largest, and most con- 
centrated action. It is the spirit's touch." — Theodore Winthrop. 

. Long Pauses. 

*' I vowed that I would dedicate my powers . 
To thee and thine : have I not kept the vow ? 
With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now 
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours 

Each from his voiceless grave : they have in visioned bowers 
Of studious zeal or love's delight 
Outwatched with me the envious night : 
They know that never joy illumed my brow. 

Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free 
This world from its dafrk slavery, 
That thou, awful Loveliness, 
"Wouldst live whate'er these words cannot express. 

" The day becomes more solemn and serene 

When noon is past : there is a harmony 

In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, 
Which through the summer is not heard nor seen, 
As if it could not be, as if it had not been! 



ILLUSTKATIONS. — LONG PAUSES. 305 

Thus let thy power, which like the truth 

Of nature on my passive youth 
Descended, to my onward life supply 

Its calm, to one who worships thee, 

And every form containing thee, 

Whom Spirit fair, thy spells did bind 
To fear himself, and love all human kind." 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty. — Shelley. 

''Rafael made a century of sonnets, 
Made and wrote them in a certain volume 
Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil 
Else he only used to draw Madonnas : 
These, the world might view — but One, the volume. 
Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you. 
Did she live and love it all her lifetime ? 
Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets. 
Die, and let it drop beside her pillow 
Where it lay in place of Rafael's glory, 
Rafael's cheek so dutious and so loving — 
Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painter's, 
Rafael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's ? 

"You and I would rather read that volume, 
(Taken to his beating bosom by it) 
Scan and list the bosom-beats of Rafael, 
Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas — • 

Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno, 
Her, that visits Florence in a vision, 
Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre — 
Seen by us and all the world in- circle. 

"You and I will never read that volume. 
Guido Reni like his own eye's apple. 
Guarded long the treasure book and loved it. 
Guido Reni dying, all Bologna 

Cried, and the world with it, ' Ours — the treasure ! * 
Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. 

" Dante once prepared to paint an angel : 
Whom to please ? You whisper, 'Beatrice.' 
While he mused and traced it and retraced it, 
(Peradventure with a pen corroded 
26* U 



306 " ELOCUTION. 

Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for, 
When, his left hand i' the hair o' the wicked, 
Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma, 
Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment, 
Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle. 
Let the wretch go festering thro' Florence) — 
Dante, who loved well because he hated. 
Hated wickedness that hinders loving, 
Dante standing, studying his angel, — 
In there broke the folk of his Inferno. 
Says he — 'Certain people of importance ' 
(Such he gave his daily, dreadful line to) 
Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet. 
Says the poet — ' Then I stopped my painting.' " 

"You and I would rather see that angel 
Painted by the tenderness of Dante, 
Would we not ? — than read .a fresh Inferno. 

"You and I will never see that picture. 
While he mused on love and Beatrice, 
While he softened o'er his outlined angel. 
In they broke, those ' people of importance ; ' 
We and Bice bear the loss forever, 

"What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture? 

^ " This : no artist lives and loves that longs not 
Once, and only once, and for One only, 
(Ah, the prize !) to find his love a language 
Fit and fair and simple and sufficient — 
Using nature that's an art to others. 
Not, this one time, art that 's turned his nature. 
Ay, of all the artist's living, loving, 
None but would forego his proper dowry, — 
Does he paint ? he fain would write a poem, — 
Does he write? he fain would paint a picture, 
Put to proof art alien to the artist's. 
Once, and only once, and for One only, 
So to be the man and leave the artist. 
Save the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow." 

One Word More. — Robert Browning. 



ILLUSTRATION'S. — VERY LONG PAUSES. 307 

" SU still upon your thrones, 
ye poetic ones ! 
And if, sooth, the world decry you, 
Let it pass, unchallenged by you ! 

" Ye to yourselves suffice, 
Without its flatteries. 
Self-contentedly approve you 
Unto Him who sits above you, — . 

"In prayers — that upward mount 
Like to a fair-sunned fount 
Which, in gushing back upon you. 
Hath an upper music won you, — 

"In faith— that still perceives 
No rose can shed her leaves, 
. Far less, poet fall from mission — 
With an unfulfilled fruition ! 

"In hope — that apprehends 
An end beyond these ends ; 
And great uses rendered duly 
By the meanest song sung truly ! 

"In thanks — for all the good, 
By poets understood — 
For the sound of seraphs moving 
Down the hidden depths of loving, — 

"For sights of things away, 
Through fissures of the clay. 
Promised things which shall be given 
And sung over, up in Heaven, — 

- "For life, so lovely-vain, — 

For death which breaks the chain, — 
For this sense of present sweetness, — 
And this yearning to completeness ! " 

Lay op the Early Rose. — Mrs. Browning. 



Very Long Pauses. 



the long and dreary Winter ! 
the cold and cruel Winter ! 



808 ELOCUTION. 

Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 

Hardly from his buried wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage ; ' 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
Vainly walked he through the forest. 
Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise from weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

the famine and the fever ! 
the wiasting of the famine ! 
the blasting of the fever ! 
the wailing of the children ! 
the anguish of the women ! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them ! " 

Hiawatha. — Longfellow. 

*' To be, or not to be, that is the question : — 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And by opposing, end them ? To die ; — to sleep ; — 
No more : — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die; — to sleep ; — 
To sleep! perchance to dream ; — Ay, there 's the rub ; 
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, 
When we have shufl9.ed off this mortal coil. 
Must give us pause : There's the respect, 
That makes calamity of so long life : 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — VERY LONG PAUSES. 809 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay. 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy take's, 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 

But that the dread of something after death, — 

That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 

No traveler returns, — puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment, 

With this regard, their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action." 

Hamlet's Soliloquy. — Shakespeare. 

•It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well! — 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. 
This longing after immortality ? 
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror. 
Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 
'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates eternity to man. 
Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
Through what variety of untried being. 
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass? 
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies Ibefore me ; 
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 
Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above us, 
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
Through all her works,) He must delight in virtue; 
And that which He delights in must be happy. 
But when? or where ? This world was made for Caesar. 
I'm weary of conjectures. This must end them. 

{^Laying his hand on his sword.) 



310 ELOCUTION. . 

Thus am I doubly armed : my death and life, 

My bane and antidote are both before me : 

This in a moment brings me to end ; 

But this inforpas me I shall never die. 

The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 

Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 

But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 

Unhurt amidst the war of elements. 

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds." 

Cato's Soliloquy. — Addison. 



TIME or MOVEMENT. 

Time is the rate of utterance. 

The term ''movement," or " rate," has the same applica- 
tion in elocution as in music; and while "quantity" 
regards single sounds as long or short, "movement" 
regards successive or consecutive sounds as fast or slow. 
It unites with quantity in regulating the length of pauses ; 
slow movement, as well as long quantity, requiring long 
pauses ; brisk or rapid movement, and brief quantity, 
equally demanding short pauses. 

Very quick or rapid movement is that of haste, alarm, 
confusion, and extreme terror. 

Quick or brisk movement is characteristic of gay, exhil- 
arated feelings, fulness of joy, &c. It gives utterance to* 
all playful, humorous and mirthful words ; it likewise 
gives its characteristic effect to fear. 

Lively movement is used in the expression of emotion 
which does not exceed liveliness or animation. 

Moderate movement is the usual rate of utterance in 
unimpassioned language, being applicable to simple nar- 
ration and description, and to didactic thought. 

Slow movement characterizes the utterance of gloom, 
melancholy, grief pathos, sublimity, and reverence, in 



TIME OE MOVEMENT. 311 

their usual form, deep repose, grandeur, majesty, vastness, 
power, and splendor. 

Very slow movement is exemplified in the expression 
of the strongest and deepest emotions ; as, horror, awe, 
profound reverence, solemnity, adoration. 



312 ELOCUTION. 



SELECTIONS.^ 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF VERY QUICK MOVEMENT. 
QUEEN MAB. 

From ''Romeo and Juliet." — Shakespeare. 

She comes 

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 

On the fore-finger of an alderman, 

Drawn with a team t)f little atomies 

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: 

Her wagon-spokes made of long spinner's legs: 

The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 

The traces, of the smallest spider's web; 

The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams: 

Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film : 

Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat. 

Not half so big as a round little worm ^ 

Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid : 

Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 

Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 

Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 

And in this state she gallops night by night 

Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love: 

On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: 

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 

O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; 

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. 

Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose 

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; 

And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 

Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 

Then dreams he of another benefice : 

Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. 

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. 

Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 

Drums in his ear ; at which he starts' and wakes ; 

And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 

And sleeps again 



SELECTIONS. — VEKY QUICK MOVEMENT. 313 

THE MARCH TO MOSCOW. Southey. 

The Emperor Nap he would set off 
On a summer excursion to Moscow ; 
The fields were green, and the sky was blue, 
Morlbleu ! Parbleu ! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow ! 

Four hundred thousand men and more 

Must go with him to Moscow : 
There were Marshals by the dozen, 

And Dukes by the score ; 
Princes a few, and Kings one or two ; 
While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue, 
Morbleu ! Parbleu ! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow ! 

There was Junot and Augereau, 

Heigh-ho for Moscow ! 
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky, 

Marshal Ney, laek-a-day ! 
General Rapp, and the Emperor Nap ; 
Nothing would doj 
While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
Nothing would do 
For the whole of this crew. 
But they must be marching to Moscow. 

The Emperor Nap he talked so big 

That he frightened Mr. Roscoe. 
John Bull, he cries, if you '11 be wise. 
Ask the Emperor Nap if he will please ^ 
To grant you peace, upon your knees, 
Because he is going to Moscow! 
He '11 make all the Poles come out of their holes, 
And beat the Russians, and eat the Prussians ; 
For the fields are green, and the sky is blue, 

Morbleu! Parbleu 
And he '11 certainly march to Moscow ! 

And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume. 
At the thought of the march to Moscow : 
The Russians, he said, they were undone, 

27 



314 ELOCUTION. 

And the great Fee-Faw-Fum 
Would presently come, 
With a hop, step, and jump, unto London. 

For, as for his conquering Eussia, 
However some persons might scoff it, 
Do it he could, and do it he would, 
And from doing it nothing would come but good, 
And nothing could call him off it. 
Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know, 

For he was the Edinburgh Prophet. 

They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review, 

Which with Holy Writ ought to b© reckoned : 

It was, through thick and thin, to its party true ; 

Its back was buff, and its sides were blue, 

Morbleu! Parbleu! 
It served them for Law and for Gospel too. 

But the Russians stoutly they turned to 

Upon the road to Moscow. 

Nap had to fight his way all through ; 

They could fight, though they could not parlez vous ; 

But the fields, were green, and the sky was blue, 

Morbleu ! Parbleu ! 

And so he got to Moscow. 

He found the place too warm for him, 

For they set fire to Moscow. 
To get there had cost him much ado, 
And then no better course he knew, 
While the fields were green, and the sky was blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
But to march back again from Moscow. 

The Russians they stuck close to him 

All on the road from Moscow. 
There was Tormazow and Jemalow, 

And all the others that end in ow ; 

Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch, 

• And Karatschkowitch, 
And all the others that end in itch ; 

Schapascheff, Souchosaneff, 
And Schepaleff, 
And all the others that end in eff ; 



SELECTIONS. — VERY QUICK MOVEMENT. 315 

Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff, 
And Tchoglokoff, 
And all tlie others that end in off; 

Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky, 
And Eieffsky, 
And all the others that end in effsky '^ 

Oscharoflfsky and Rostoffsky, 
And all the others that end in oflFsky; 

And Platoff he play'd them off, 
And Shouvaloff he shovelled them off, 

And Markoff he marked them off, 

And Krosnoff he crossed them off, 

And Tuchkoff he touched them off, 

And Boraskoff he bored them off, 

And Kutousoff he cut them off, 

And Parenzoff he pared them off, 

And Worronzoff he worried them off, 

And Doctoroff he doctored them off. 

And Rodionoff he flogged them off. 
And, last of all, an Admiral came, 
A terrible man with a terrible name, 
A name which you all know by sight very well. 
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell. 
They stuck close to Nap with all their might ; 

They were on the left and on the right, 
Behind and before, and by day and by night ; 

He would rather parlez vous than fight ; 

But he looked white, and he looked blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
When parlez vous no more would do, 

For they remembered Moscow. 

And then came on the frost and snow, 

All on the road from Moscow. 
The wind and the weather he found, in that hour, 

Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power ; 
For him who, while Europe crouched under his rod, 
Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God. 
Worse and worse every day the elements grew. 
The fields were so white, and the sky so blue, 

Sacrebleu ! Ventrebleu ! 
What a horrible journey from Moscow ! 



316 ELOCUTION 

What then thought the Emperor Nap 

Upon the road from Moscow ? 
Why, I ween he thought it small delight, 
To fight all day, and to freeze all night ; 
And he was besides in a very great fright, 

For a whole skin he liked to be in ; 
And so, not knowing what else to do, 
When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue, 
Morbleu ! Parbleu ! 
He stole away, — I tell you true, — 
Upon the road from Moscow. 
'Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most ; 
So the Devil may take the hindmost. 

Too cold upon the road was he ; 
Too hot had he been at Moscow ; 
But colder and hotter he may be, 
For the grave is colder than Moscow; 
And a place there is to be kept in view. 
Where the fire is red, and the brimstone blue, 
Morbleu ! Parbleu ! 
Which he must go to. 
If the Pope say true, 
If he does not in time look about him ; 
Where his namesake almost 
He may have for his Host ; 
He has reckoned too long without him ; 
If that Host get him in Purgatory, 
He won't leave him there alone with his glory ; 
But there he must stay for a very long day, 
For from thence there is no stealing away, 
As there was on the road from Moscow. 

QUICK MOVEMENT. 
THE CATARACT OF LODORE. Rohert Southey. 
"How does the Water 
Come down at Lodore ? " 
My little boy ask'd me 
Thus, once on a time ; 
And moreover, he task'd me 
To tell him' in rhyme. 
Anon at the word. 



SELECTION'S. — QUICK MOVEMENT. 317 

There first came one daughter, ^ 
And then came another, 

To second and third 
The request of their brother, 
And to hear how the Water 

Comes down at Lodore, 
With its rush and its roar, 
As many a time 

They had seen it before. 

So I told them in rhyme, 
For of rhymes I had store ; 

And 'twas in my vocation 
For their recreation 

That I should so sing; 
Because I was Laureate 

To them and the King. 

From its sources which well 
In the Tarn on the fell ; 
From its fountains 
In the mountains, 
Its rills and its gills ; 
Through moss and through brake, 
It runs and it creeps 
For awhile, till it sleeps 
In its own little Lake. 
And thence at departing, 
Awakening and starting. 
It runs through the reeds, 

And away it proceeds, 
Through meadow and glade, 
In sun and in shade. 
And through the wood-shelter, 
Among crags in its flurry, 
Helter-skelter, 
Hurry-scurry. 
Here it comes sparkling. 
And there it lies darkling; 
Now smoking and frothing 
Its tumult and wrath in, 
Till in this rapid race 
On which it is bent, 
27* 



S18 ELOCUTION-. 

It reaches the place 

Of its steep . descent. 

The Cataract strong 

Then plunges along, 

•Striking and raging 

As if a war waging 
Its caverns and rocks among; 

Rising and leaping, 
Sinking and creeping. 
Swelling and sweeping, 
Showering and springing, 
Flying and flinging, 

Writhing and ringing. 

Eddying and whisking. 

Spouting and frisking, 

Turning and twdsting. 
Around and around 

With endless rebound: 

Smiting and fighting, 

A sight to delight in; 
Confounding, astounding, 
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound. 

Collecting, projecting, 
Receding and speeding. 
And shocking and rocking. 
And darting and parting, 
And threading and spreading, 
And whizzing and hissing. 
And dripping and skipping, 
And hitting and splitting. 
And shining and twining. 
And rattling and battling, 
And shaking and quaking. 
And pouring and roaring, 
And waving and raving, 
And tossing and crossing, 
And flowing and going, 
And running and stunning. 
And foaming and roaming. 
And dinning and spinning, 
And dropping and hopping, 



SELECTIONS. — QUICK MOVEMENT. 319 

And working and jerking, 
And guggling and struggling, 
And heaving and cleaving, 
And moaning and groaning ; 

And glittering and frittering, 
And gathering and feathering, 
And whitening and brightening, 
And quivering and shivering, 
And hurrying and skurrying, 
And thundering and floundering; 

Dividing and gliding and sliding, 

And falling and brawling and sprawling. 

And diving and riving and striving, 

And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling. 

And sounding and bounding and rounding. 

And bubbling and troubling and doubling. 

And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, 

And clattering and battering and shattering ; 

Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting. 
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, 
. Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing. 
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling. 
And gleaming and streaming and seaming and beaming, 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing. 
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping. 
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, 
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; 
And so never ending, but always descending, 
Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending, 
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar. 
And this way the water comes down at Lodore, 

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 

William Coivper. 

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FURTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE 
HOME AGAIN. 

John Gilpin was a citizen 

Of credit and renown ; 
A train-band Captain eke was he 

Of famous London town. 



320 ELOCUTION. 

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear — 
"Though wedded we have been 

These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
No holiday hav<e seen. 

"To-morrow is our wedding-day, 
And we will then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton 
All in a chaise and pair. 

"My sister, and my sister's child, 
Myself, and children three, 
Will fill the chaise, so you must ride 
On horseback after we." 

He soon replied — "I do admire 

Of womankind but one, 
And you are she, toy dearest dear. 

Therefore it shall be done. 

" I am a linen-draper bold, 

As all the world doth know ; 
And my good friend the calender 
Will lend- his horse to go." 

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin — " That's well said; 

And, for that wine is dear. 
We will be furnished with our own, 

Which is both bright and clear." 

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; 

O'erjoyed was he to find 
That, though on pleasure she was bent, 

She had a frugal mind. 

The morning came, the chaise was brought ; 

But yet was not allow'd 
To drive up to the door, lest all 

Should say that she was proud. 

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd. 
Where they did all get in — 

Six precious souls, and all agog 
To dash through thick and thin. 

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, 
Were never folks so glad. 



SELECTIONS. — QUICK MOVEMENT. 821 

The stones did rattle underneath, 
As if Cheapside* were mad. 

John Gilpin at his horse's side 

Seized fast the flowing mane, 
And up he got in haste to ride, 

But soon came down again : 

For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, 

His journey to begin, 
When, turning round his head, he saw 

Three customers come in. 

So down he came : for loss of time, 

Although it grieved him sore, 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 

Would trouble him much more. 

'Twas long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind ; 
When Betty screaming, came down stairs 

<'The wine is left behind!" 

"Good lack!" quoth he — *'yet bring it me, 
My leathern belt likewise. 
In which I bear my trusty sword 
When I do exercise." 

Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) 

Had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that she. loved. 

And keep it safe and sound. 

Each bottle had a curling ear, 

Through which the belt he drew, 
And hung a bottle on each side 

To make his balance true. 

Then over all, that he might be 

Equipped from top to toe. 
His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat. 

He manfully did throw. 

Now see him mounted once again 
Upon his nimble steed, 
V 



322 ELOCUTIOJ^. 

Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, 
With caution and good heed. 

But finding soon a smoother road 
Beneath his well-shod feet, 

The snorting beast began to trot, 
Which galled him in his seat. 

So, " Fair and softly," John he cried, 
But John he cried in vain; 

That trot became a gallop soon, 
In spite of curb and rein. 

So stooping down, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit uprigit, 
He grasped the mane with both his hands, 

And eke with all his might. 

His horse, who never in that sort 
Had handled been before. 

What thing upon his back had got 
Did wonder more and more. 

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; 

Aw^ay went hat and wig; 
He little dreamt, when he set out. 

Of running such a rig. 

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 
Like streamer long and gay. 

Till, loop and button failing both, 
At last it flew away. 

Then might all people well discern 
The bottles he had slung — 

A bottle swinging at each side. 
As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs did bark, the children scream' d. 

Up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out, "Well done! " 

As loud as he could bawl. 

Away went Gilpin — who but he ? 
His fame soon spread around — 



SELECTIONS. — QUICK MOVEMENT. 323 

"He carries weigM ! he rides a race! 
'Tis for a thousand pound ! " 

And still, as fast as he drew near, 

'Twas wonderful to view 
How in a trice the turnpike-men 

Their gates wide open threw. 

And now, as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shatter'd at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road, 

Most piteous to be seen, 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 

As they had basted been. 

But still he seem'd to carry weight, 

With leathern girdle braced. 
For all might see the bottle necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 

These gambols he did play. 
Until he came unto the Wash 

Of Edmonton so gay ; 

And there he threw the wash about 

On both sides of the way. 
Just like unto a trundling mop, 

Or a wild goose at play. 

At Edmonton his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how he did ride. 

* Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here 's the house," — 

They all aloud did cry; 
" The dinner waits, and we are tired : " 

Said Gilpin — "So am I." 

But yet his horse was not a whit 
Inclined to tarry there ; 



824 ELOCUTION. 

For why ? — his owner had a house 
Full ten miles off at Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he flew, 

Shot by an archer strong ; 
So did he fly — which brings me to 

The middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin out of breath, 

And sore against his will, 
Till at his friend the calender's 

His horse at last stood still. 

The calender, amazed to see 

His neighbor in such trim, 
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate 

And thus accosted him : 

**What news? what news? your tidings tell; 
Tell me you must and shall — 
Say why bareheaded you are come, 
Or why you come at all ! " 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit. 

And loved a timely joke; 
And thus unto the calender 

Li merry guise he spoke: — 

**I came because your horse would come; 
And, if I well forbode, 
My hat and wig- will soon be here, — 
They are upon the road." 

The calender, right glad to flnd 

His friend in merry pin. 
Returned him not a single word, 

But to the house went in; 

Whence straight he came with hat and wig : 

A wig that flowed behind, 
A hat not much the worse for wear — 

Each comely in its kind. . 

He held them up, and in his turn 
Thus showed his ready wit — 



SELECTIOKS. — QUICK MOVEMENT. 325 

"My head is twice as big as yours, 
They therefore needs must fit. 

"But let me scrape the dirt away 
That hangs about your face ; 
And stop and eat, for well you may 
Be in a hungry case." 

Said John — "It is my wedding-day. 

And all the world would stare 
If wife should dine at Edmonton, 

And I should dine at Ware." 

So, turning to his horse, he said, 

"I am in haste to dine; 
'Twas for your pleasure you came here — 

You shall come back for mine." 

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, 

For which he paid full dear ! 
For while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most loud and clear; 

Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar. 
And gallop'd off with all his might, 

As he had done before. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig : 
He lost them sooner than at first; 

For why? — they were too big. 

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 

Her husband posting down 
Into the country far way, 

She pulled out half a crown; 

And thus unto the youth she said 
That drove them to the Bell, 
*' This shall be yours when you bring back 
My husband safe and well." 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
John coming back amain, — 
28 



326 ELOCUTION-. 

Whom in a trice he tried to stop 
By catching at his rein ; 

But not performing what he meant, 

And gladly would have done, 
The frightened steed he frighted more. 

And made him faster run. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went post-boy at his heels. 
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss 

The lumbering of the wheels. 

Six gentlemen upon the road 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly. 
With post-boy scampering in the rear. 

They raised the hue and cry: 

" Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman I " 
Not one of them was mute ; 
And all and each' that passed that way 
Did join in the pursuit. 

And now the turnpike-gates again 

Flew open in short space; 
The tollmen thinking as before 

That Gilpin rode a race. 

And so he did, and won it too, 

For he got first to town ; 
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 

He did again get down. 

Now let us sing, Long live the king ! 

And Gilpin, long live he ; 
And when he next doth ride abroad, 

May I be there to see ! 

LIVELY MOVEMENT. 

IRVING. 

From " The Fahle for Critics."— Lowell, 

What ! Irving ? thrice welcome, warm heart and fine brain, 
You bring back the happiest spirit from Spain, 



SELECTIONS. — LIVELY MOVEMENT. 327 

And the gravest sweet humor, that ever was there 

Since Cervantes met death in his gentle despair ; 

Nay, don't be embarrassed, nor look so beseeching, — 

I shan't run directly against my own preaching, 

And, having just laughed at their Raphaels and Dantes, 

Gro to setting you up beside matchless Cervantes ; 

But allow me to speak what I honestly feel, — 

To a true-poet heart add the fun of Dick Steele, 

Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill. 

With the whole of that partnership's stock and good-will, 

Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, 

The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well, 

Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain 

That only the finest and clearest remain, 

Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives 

From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves. 

And you '11 find a choice nature,, not wholly deserving 

A name either English or Yankee, — just Irving. 

BONNY KILMENY. 

From " The Queen's Wahe." — James Hogg. 

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away. 
And she walked in the light of a sunless day ; 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright. 
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light ; 
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, 
And the flowers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her body they laid, 
That her youth and beauty never might fade ; 
And they smiled on heaven when they saw her lie 
In the stream of life that wanders by. 
And she heard a song — she heard it sung. 
She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung, 
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn — 
*< Oh ! blest be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see. 
Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ; 
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 
Like. a gouden bow, or a beamless sun — 



328 ELOCUTION. 

Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair ; 
And the angels shall miss them travelling the air. 
But lang, lang after baith night and day, 
When the sun and the world have dyed away, 
When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom, 
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom! " 



But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, 
So far surpassing Nature's law, 
The singer's voice wad sink away 
And the string of his harp wad cease to play. 
But she saAv till the sorrows xrf man were by, 
And all was love and harmony ; 
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away. 
Like the flakes of snaw on a winter's day. 

Then Kilmeny begged again to see 

The friends she had left in her own countryCj 

To tell of the place where she had been. 

And the glories that lay in the land unseen; 

To warn the living maidens fair, 

The loved of Heaven, the spirit's care, 

That all whose minds unmeled remain 

Shall bloom in beauty when Time is gane. 

With distant music, soft and deep. 

They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep ; 

And when she awakened, she lay her lane. 

All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene. 

When seven lang years had come and fled, 

When grief was calm, and hope was dead. 

When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, 

Late, late in the gloamin, Kilmeny came hame ! 

And I her beauty was fair to see. 

But still and steadfast was her ee ; 

Such beauty bard may never declare, 

For there was no pride nor passion there ; 

And the soft desire of maiden's een, 

In that mild face could never be seen. 

Her seymar was the lily flower, 

And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower ; 

And her voice like the distant melody e, 



SELECTIONS. — LIVELY MOVEMENT. 329 

That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved m raike the lanely glen, 
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men, 
Her holy hymns unheard to sing, 
To suck the flowers and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appeared, 
The wild beasts of the hills were cheered ; 
The wolf played blythely round the field, 
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled, 
The dun deer wooed with manner bland, 
And cowered aneath her lily hand. 
And when at even the woodlands rung, 
When hymns of other worlds she sung 
In ecstacy of sweet devotion, 
Oh ! then the glen was all in motion ! 
The wild beasts of the forest came. 
Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame. 
And goved around, charmed and amazed : 
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. 
And murmured, and looked with anxious pain, 
For something the mystery to explain. 
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock ; 
The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew ; 
The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 
The wolf and the kid their raike began. 
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran ; 
The hawk and the hern attour them hung. 
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young ; 
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : 
It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 
When a month and a day had come and gane, 
Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene ; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen! 
But 0, the words that fell from her mouth, 
Were words of wonder, and words of truth ! 
But all the land were in fear and dread. 
For they kend na whether she was living or dead. 
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ; 
She left this world of sorrow and pain, 
And returned to the land of thought again. 
28* 



330 ELOCUTION. 



THE CLOUD. Perry By sake Shelley. 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams: 
I bear light shades for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet birds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail. 

And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below. 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 
And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 

"While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers. 

Lightning, my pilot, sits; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder. 

It struggles and howls at fits ; 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills. 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile. 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes. 

And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

When the morning star shines dead. 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings. 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 

In the* light of its golden wings ; 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, 



SELECTIOJS-S. — LIVELY MOVEMENT. 831 

Its ardours of rest and of love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above, 
With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 

Whom mortals call the moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet. 

Which only the angels hear. 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee. 

Like a swarm of golden bees. 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent. 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 

Are paved with the moon and these. 



I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 

And the moon with a girdle of pearl ; 
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape. 

Over a torrent sea. 
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof. 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march. 

With hurricane, fire, and snow, 
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 

Is the million-coloured bow ; 
The sphere-fire above, its soft colours wove. 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water, 

And the nursling of the sky ; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 

I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when with never a stain, 

The pavilion of heaven is bare. 



8S2 ELOCUTION". 

And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, 

Build up the blue dome of air, 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 

I arise and upbuild it again. 

MODERATE MOVEMENT. 

PALM SUNDAY. John Kelle. 

(address to poets.) 

Ye whose hearts are beating high 
With the pulse of Poesy, 
Heirs of more than royal race, 
Framed by Heaven's peculiar grace, 
God's own work to do on earth, 

(If the word be not too bold,) 
Giving virtue a new birth, 

And a life that ne'er grows old — 

Sovereign masters of our hearts ! 
Know ye who hath set your parts ? 
He who gave you breath to sing. 
By whose strength ye sweep the string. 
He hath chosen you, to lead 

His Hosannas here below ; — 
Mount, and claim your glorious meed ; 

Linger not with sin and wo. 

But if ye should hold your peace, 
Deem not that the song would cease — 
Angels round His glory-throne, 
Stars, His guiding hand that own, 
Flowers, that grow beneath our feet. 

Stones, in earth's dark womb that rest. 
High and low in choir shall meet, 

Ere His name shall be unblest. 

Lord, by every minstrel tongue 
Be Thy praise so duly sung, 
That Thine angels' harps may ne'er 
Fail to find fit echoino- here : 



SELECTIONS. — MODERATE MOVEMENT. 333 

We the while, of meaner birth, 

Who in that divinest spell 
Dare not hope to join on earth, 

Give us grace to listen well. 

But should thankless silence seal 
Lips, that might half Heaven reveal, 
Should bards in idol-hymns profane 
The sacred ^soul-enthralling strain, 
(As in this bad world below 

Noblest things find vilest using,) 
Then, Thy power and mercy show. 

In vile things noble breath infusing ; 

Then waken into sound divine 

The very pavement of Thy shrine, 

Till we, like Heaven's star-sprinkled floor, 

Faintly give back what we adore ; 

Childlike though the voices be. 

And untunable the parts, 
Thou wilt own the minstrelsy 

If it flow from childlike hearts. 

WORK. ifr«. Browning, 

What are we set on earth for ? say, to toil — 

Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines. 

For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, 

And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. 

God did anoint thee with his odorous oil, 

To wrestle, not to reign ; and He assigns 

All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, 

For younger fellow-workers of the soil 

To wear for amulets. So others shall 

Take patience, labor, to their heart and hands. 

From thy hands, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer, 

And God's grace fructify through thee to all. 

The least flower, with a brimming cup, may stand. 

And share its dew-drop with another near. 

SONNET. Frances Anne Kemhle. 

Blaspheme not thou thy sacred life, nor turn 
O'er joys that God hath for a season lent 
Perchance to try thy spirit, and its bent, 



334 ELOCUTION. 

Effeminate soul and base, weakly to mourn. 

Tliere lies no desert in the land of life, 

For e'en that tract that barrenest doth seem, 

Labored of thee in faith and hope, shall teem 

With heavenly harvests and rich gatherings, rife. 

Haply no more, music and mirth and love. 

And glorious things of old and younger art. 

Shall of thy days make one perpetual feast : 

But when these bright companions all depart. 

Lay there thy head upon the ample breast 

Of Hope, — and thou shalt hear the angels sing above. 

EXTKACT FEOM "DEJECTION: AN ODE." 

S. T. Coleridge, 
Lady ! we receive but what we give. 

And in our life alone does nature live: 

Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud ! 

And would we aught behold of higher worth. 
Than that inanimate cold woi-ld allowed 
To the poor loveless ever anxious crowd, 

Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth 
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 

Enveloping the Earth — 
And from the soul itself must there be sent 

A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, 
Of all sweet sounds the life and element ! 

pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me 
What this strong music in the soul may be ! 
What, and wherein it doth "exist. 
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, 
This beautiful, and beauty-making power. 

Joy, virtuous Lady ! Joy that ne'er was given, 
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, 
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, 
Joy, Lady ! is the spirit and the power, 
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower, 

A new Earth and new Heaven, 
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud, — 
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud — 

We in ourselves rejoice! 
And thence flows all that charms our ear or sight, 

All melodies the echoes of that voice. 
All colors a suffusion from that light. 



SELECTION'S. — SLOW MOVEMENT. 335 

SLOW MOVEMENT. 

SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS. Milton. 

When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 

And that one talent which is death to hide, 

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
To serve therewith my Maker, and present 

My true account, lest he returning, chide ; 

"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied? " 

I fondly ask : but Patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies, *'God doth not need 

Either man's work, or his own gifts ; who best 

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his state 
Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed. 

And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; 

They also serve who only stand and wait." 

LIFE TAPESTRY. Dora Greenwell. 

Too long have I, methought, with tearful eye 

Pored o'er this tangled work of mine, and mused 
Above each stitch awry and thread confused ; 

Now will I think on what in years gone by 

I heard of them that weave rare tapestry 

At royal looms, and how they constant use 

To work on the rough side, and still peruse 

The pictured pattern set above them high ; 

So will I set MY COPT high above. 

And gaze and gaze till on my spirit grows 

Its gracious impress; till some line of love. 
Transposed upon my canvass, faintly glows ; 

Nor look too much on warp or woof, provide 

He whom I work for sees their fairer side. 

LOVE AND DEATH. Tennyson. 

What time the mighty moon was gathering light, 
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise, 
And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes ; 
When, turning round a cassia, full in view 
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, 



►36 ELOCUTION. 

And talking to himself, first met his sight : 
"You must begone," said Death ; "these Walks are mine." 
Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight ; 
Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine ; 
Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree 
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath, 
So in the light of great eternity 
Life eminent creates the shade of death ; 
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall, 
But I shall reign forever over all." 

TEARS. Mrs. Browning. 

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not 

More grief than ye can weep for. That is well — 

That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell. 

Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. 

Tears ! what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot, 

The mother singing : at her marriage-bell, 

The bride weeps: and before the oracle 

Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot 

That moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace," 

Whoever weep ; albeit, as some have done. 

Ye grope tear-blinded, in a desert place, 

And touch but tombs, — look up ! Those tears will run 

Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face. 

And leave the vision clear for stars and sun. 

EXTRACT EROM "THE TWO VOICES." Tennyson. 

Here sits he shaping wings to fly ; 
His heart forebodes a mystery: 
He names the name Eternity. 

That type of Perfect in his mind 
In Nature he can nowhere find, 
He sows himself on every wind. 

He seems to hear a Heavenly Friend, 
And through thick veils to apprehend 
A labor working to an end. 

The end and the beginning vex 

His reason: many things perplex. 

With motions, checks, and counter-checks. 



SELECTIONS. — SLOW MOVEMENT. 337 

He knows a baseness in his blood 

At such strange war with something good, 

He may not do the thing he would. 

Heaven opens inward, chasms yawn, 

Vast images in glimmering dawn, 

Half shown, are broken and withdrawn. 

Ah ! sure within him and without. 
Could his dark wisdom find it out, 
There must be answer to his doubt. 



A second voice was at mine ear, 

A little whisper silver-clear, 

A murmur, "Be of better cheer." 

As from some blissful neighbourhood, 
. A notice faintly understood, 
"I see the end, and know the good." 

A little hint to solace woe, 
A hint, a whisper breathing low, 
"I may not speak of what I know." 

Like an ^olian harp that wakes 

No certain air, but overtakes 

Far thought with music that it makes : 

Such seemed the whisper at my side : 
*' What is it thou knowest, sweet voice ? " I cried, 
"A hidden hope," the voice replied: 

So heavenly-toned, that in that hour 
From out my sullen heart a power 
Broke, like the rainbow from the shower. 

To feel, although no tongue can prove, 
That every cloud that spreads above 
And voileth love, itself is love. 

And forth into the fields I went, 
And Nature's living motion lent 
The puise of hope to discontent. 

I wondered at the bounteous hours, 
The slow result of winter showers : 
You scarce could see the grass for flowers, 

29 W 



338 ELOCUTION. 

I woudered, while I paced along : 

The woods were filled so full with song, 

There seemed no room for sense of wrong. 

So variously seemed all things wrought, 
I marvelled hoAV the mind was brought 
To anchor, by one gloomy thought ; 

And wherefore rather I made choice 
To commune with that barren voice, 
Than him that said, "Rejoice! rejoice.'" 

FAITH. From " In Memortam."— Tbid. 
That which we dare invoke to bless ; 

Our dearest faith, our ghastliest doubt ; 

He, They, One, All ; within, without ; 
The Power in darkness whom we guess ; 

I found Him not in world or sun. 

Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye; 

Nor through the questions men may try, 
The petty cobwebs we have spun : 

If e'er when faith had fallen asleep, 

I heard a voice, " Believe no more," 

And heard an ever-breaking shore 
That tumbled in the Godless deep ; 

A warmth within the breast would melt 

The freezing reason's colder part. 

And like a man in wrath, the heart 
Stood up and answered, "I have felt." 

No, like a child in doubt and fear : 

But that blind clamor made me wise ; 

Then was I as a child that cries, 
But, crying, knows his father near ; 

And what I seem beheld again 

What is, and no man understands ; 

And out of darkness came the hands 
That reach through nature, moulding men. 



SELECTIONS. — SLOW MOVEMENT. 339 



HYMN OP TEIJST. 0. W. Holmes. 

Love Divine, that stboped to share 

Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, 
On Thee, we cast each earth-born care, 

We smile at pain while Thou art near ! 

Though long the weary way we tread, 
And sorrows crown each lingering year. 

No path we shun, no darkness dread, 

Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near ! 

When drooping pleasure turns to grief, 
And trembling faith is changed to fear, 

The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf, 
Shall softly tell us. Thou art near ! 

On Thee we fling our burdening woe, 

Love Divine, forever dear. 
Content to suffer while we know, 

Living and dying, Thou art near ! 

EXTRACT FEOM "ABT VOGLER.'' 

Mohert Browning. 

Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name ? 

Builder and maker. Thou, of houses not made with hands ! 
What, have fear of change from Thee, who art ever the same ? 

Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands ? 
There shall never be one lost good ! What was, shall live as before ; 

The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound ; 
What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more ; 

On the earth the broken arcs ; in heaven, a perfect round. 

All we have willed or hoped, or dreamed of good, shall exist ; 

Not its likeness, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power 
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist 

When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. 
The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, 

The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, 
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; 

Enough that He heard it once : we shall hear it by and by. 

And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence 

For the fulness of the days ? How we withered or agonized ? 



840 ELOCUTION. 

Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue 
thence? 
Why rush the discords in, but that harmony should be prized ? 

STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY. 

Adelaide Anne Procter. 
Strive ; yet I do not promise, 

The prize you dream of to-day, 
Will not fade when you think to' grasp it. 

And melt in your hand away ; 
But another and holier treasure. 

You would now perchance disdain, 
Will come when your toil is over, 

And pay you for all your pain. 

Wait; yet I do not tell you, 

The hour you long for now, 
Will not come with its radiance vanished. 

And a shadow upon its brow; 
Yet far through the misty future, 

With a crown of starry light, 
An hour of joy you know not 

Is winging her silent flight. 

Pray ; though the gift you ask for 

May never comfort your fears, 
May never repay your pleading, 

Yet pray, and with hopeful tears ; 
•An answ^er, not that you long for, 

But diviner, will come one day ; 
Your eyes are too dim to see it, 

Yet strive^ and wait, and pray. 

VERY SLOW MOVEMENT. 

THE CLOSING SCENE. T, B. Read. 

Within this sober realm of leafless trees, 

The russet year inhaled the dreamy air, 
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease, 

When all the trees are lying brown and bare. 

The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills, 
O'er the dim waters wid'ning in the vales. 



SELECTION'S. — VERY SLOW MOVEMENT. 341 

Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, 
On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 

All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued, - 
The hills seemed farther, and the stream sang low; 

As in a dream the distant woodman hew'd 
His winter log, with many a muffled blow. 

Th' embattled forests, erewhile armed in gold, 
Their banners bright with every martial hue, 

-Now stood like some sad beaten hosts of old, 
Withdrawn afar in times remotest blue. 

On slumb'rous wings the yulture tried his flight, 

The dove scarce heard his singing mate's complaint, 

And like a star, slow drowning in the light. 

The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint. 

The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew; 

Crew trice, and all was stiller than before — 
Silent till some replying wanderer blew 

His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 

Where erst, the jay within the elm's tall crest, 

Made garrulous trouble round the unfledged young ; 

And where the oriole hung his swinging nest 
By every light wind like a censer swung. 

Where sang the noisy masons of the eaves. 

The busy swallows circling ever near. 
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, 

An early harvest and a plenteous year. 

Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast, 
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn, 

To warn the reapers of the rosy east : 
All now was songless, empty, and forlorn. 

Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail. 

And croaked the crow, through, all the dreary gloom ; 

Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, 
Made echo to the distant cottage loom. 

There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers ; 

The sjj-'^ers wove their thin shrouds night by night; 
29* 



842 ELOCUTION. 

The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowei'S, 

Sailed slowly by — passed noiseless out of sight. 

Amid all this — in this most cheerless air, 

And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch 

Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there, 
Firing the floor with his inverted torch — 

Amid all this, the centre of the scene, 

The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread, 

Plied the swift wheel, and with her joyless mien, 
Sat like a Fate, and watched the flying thread. 

She had known sorrow. He had walked with her, 
Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen crust, 

And in the dead leaves, still "she heard the stir 
Of his black mantle trailing in the dust. 

While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, 
Her country summoned, and she gave her all ; 

And twice war, bowed to her his sable plume ; 
Ee-gave the swords to rest upon the wall. 

Ke-gave the swords — but not the hand that drew 

And struck for liberty the dying blow ; 
Nor him who to his sire and country true 

Fell 'mid the ranks of the invading foe. 

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, 

Like the low murmurs of a hive at noon. 
Long but not loud the memory of the gone 

Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. 

At last the thread was snapped, her head was bow'd. 

Life drooped the distaff through his hands serene ; 
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud, 

While Death and Winter closed the Autumn scene. 

ELEGY 

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHTJRCH-YART). Gray, 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 



SELECTIONS. — VEKY SLOW MOVEMENT. 843 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reigij. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap. 

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return. 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : 

How jocund did* they drive their team afield ! 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 



344 ELOCUTION-. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery sootlje the dull cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; 

Chill penury repress'd th«ir noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, 'with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute ingloi-ious Milton here may rest. 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbad : nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 

Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. 

The struggling pangs of conscience truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wislies never learn'd to stray ; 

Along the cool sequestered vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 



SELECTIONS. ^VEKY SLOW MOVEMENT. 345 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply : 
And many a holy test around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, . 

"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dew§ away. 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn : 

" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech. 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 
His listless length at noontide would be stretch. 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

Muttering his wayward fancies would he rove ; 
Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn. 

Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 
Another came ; nor yet beside the -rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : 

" The next, with dirges due in sad ar-ray 

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne : 



346 ELOCUTION. 

Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : 

Fair science frown' d not on his humble birth, 
And melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sinT;ere, 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear. 

He gain'd from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



In Gray's first M.S. of the "Elegy," after the eighteenth stanza, ending 
with the word "flame," were the four following stanzas : 

The thoughtless world to majesty may bow, 

Exalt the brave, and idolize success ; 
But more to innocence their safety owe, 

Than power or genius e'er conspired to bless. 

And thou who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, 
Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, 

By night and lonely contemplation led 
To wander in the gloomy walks of fate : 

Hark ! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, 
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease ; 

In still small accents whispering from the ground, 
A grateful earnest of eternal peace. 

No more, with reason and thyself at strife, 
Give anxious cares and endless wishes room; 

But through the cool sequester'd vale of life 
Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom. 

Here the poem was originally intended to conclude. 

After the twenty-fifth stanza, ending with the word "lawn," was the 
following stanza: 



SELECTIONS. — VEEY SLOW MOVEMENT. 347 

Him have we seen the greenwood side along, 
While o'er the heath we hied, our labor done, 

Oft as the woodlark piped her farewell song, 
With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun. 

And in some of the first editions, immediately before "The Epitaph,'* 
was the following stanza : 

There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year. 

By hands unseen, are showers of violets found ; 

The red-breast loves to build and warble there. 
And little footste.ps lightly print the ground. 

THE CRY OF THE HUMAN. ifrs^Broioning. 

''There is no God," the foolish saith, — 
But none, " There is no sorrow ; " 
And nature oft, the cry of faith, 

In bitter need will borrow : 
Eyes which the preacher could not school, 

By wayside graves are raised; 
And lips say, " God be pitiful," 
Who ne'er said, "God be prais'd." 

Be pitiful, God ! 

The tempest stretches from the steep 

The shadow of its coming — 
The beasts grow tame, and near us creep, 

As help were in the human — 
Yet, while the cloud-wheels roll and grind 

We spirits tremble under ! — 
The hills have echoes ; but we find 

No answer for the thunder. 

Be pitiful, God ! 

The battle hurtles on the plains — 

Earth feels new scythes upon her : 
We reap our brothers for the wains, 

And call the harvest . . honor, — 
Draw face to face, front line to line, 

One image all inherit, — 
Then kill, curse on, by that same sign. 

Clay, clay, — and spirit, spirit. 

Be pitiful, God ! 

The plague runs festering through the town, — 
And never a bell is tolling ; 



348 ELOCUTION. 

And corpses, jostled 'neath the moon, 

Nod to the death-cart's rolling ! 
The young child calletn for the cup — 

The strong man brings it weeping ; 
The mother from her Ibabe looks up. 

And shrieks away its sleeping. 

Be pitiful, God ! 

The plague of gold strikes far and near, — 

And deep and strong it enters : 
This purple chimar which we wear. 

Makes madder than the centaur's. 
Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange ; 

We cheer the pale gold-diggers — 
Each soul is worth so much on 'Change, 

And marked, like sheep, with figures. 
Be pitiful, God 1 

The curse of gold upon the land, 

The lack of bread enforces — 
The rail-cars ^nort from strand to strand, 

Like more of Death's White Horses! 
The rich preach "rights" and future days, 

And hear no angel scoffing: 
The poor die mute — with starving gaze 

On corn-ships in the offing. 

Be pitiful, God ! 

We meet together at the feast — 
To private mirth betake us — 
We stare down in the winecup, lest 

. Some vacant chair should shake us ! 
We name delight, and pledge it round — 

" It shall be ours to-morrow ! " 
God's seraphs ! do your voices sound 
As sad in naming sorrow ? 

Be pitiful, God I 

We sit together, with the skies, 

The steadfast skies, above us : 
We look into each other's eyes, — 

"And how long will you love us ? " 
The eyes grow dim with prophecy, 

The voices, low and breathless — 



SELECTIONS. — VERY SLOW MOVEMENT. 349 

*'Till death us part! " — words, to be 
Our best for lore the deathless ! 

Be pitiful, dear God ! 

We tremble by the harmless bed 

Of one loved and departed — 
Our tears drop on the lips that said 

Last night, " Be stronger hearted ! " 
God, — to clasp those fingers close. 

And yet to feel so lonely ! — 
To see s» light on dearest brows, 

Which is the daylight only ! 

Be pitiful, God ! 

The happy clTildren come to us. 

And look up in our faces : 
They ask us • — Was it thus, and thus, 

When we were in their places ? 
We cannot speak : — we see anew 

The hills we used to live in ; 
And feel our mother's smile press through 

The kisses she is giving. 

Be pitiful, God ! 

We pray together at the kirk. 

For mercy, mercy, solely — 
Hands weary with the evil work. 

We lift them to the Holy ! 
The corpse is calm below our knee — 

Its spirit, bright before Thee — 
Between them, worse than either, we — 

Without the rest or glory ! 

Be pitiful, God ! 

We leave the communing of men. 

The murmur of the passions ; 
And live alone, to live again 

With endless generations. 
Are we so brave ? — The sea and sky 

In silence lift their mirrors ; 
And, glassed therein, our spirits high 

Kecoil from their own terrors. 

Be pitiful, God ! 
30 



350 ELOCUTIO?^, 

We sit on hills our childhood wist, 

Woods, hamlets, streams, beholding : 
The sun strikes, through the farthest mist, 

The city's spire to golden. 
The city's golden spire it was, 

When hope and health were strongest. 
But now it is the churchyard grass, 

We look upon the longest. 

Be pitiful, God ! 

And soon all vision waxeth dull — 

Men whisper, " He is dying: " 
We cry no more, " Be pitiful ! " — 

We have no strength for crying: 
No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine, 

Look up and triumph rather — 
Lo ! in the depth of God's Divine, 

The Son adjures the Father — 

Be pitiful, God ! 

STANZAS. William Knox. 

OH ! WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MOKTAL BE PPOUD ? 

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal he proud? 
Like a swift, fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade. 
Be scattered around and together be laid ; 
And the young and the old, and the low and the high 
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. 

The infant a mother attended and loved ; 
The mother that infant's affection who proved ; 
The husband that mother and infant who blessed; 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of Best. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, 
Shone beauty and pleasure, — her triumphs are by ; 
And the memory of those who loved her and praised. 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn : 



SELECTIONS. — VERY SLOW MOVEMENT. 851 

The eye of the sage"and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap ; 
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep; 
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread, 
Have faded away with the grass that we tread. 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven. 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 

So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed 
That withers away to let others succeed; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. 

For we are the same our fathers have been: 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen: 
We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, 
And run the same course our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; 
From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink ; 
To the life we are clinging they also would cling : 
But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. 

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; 
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; 
They grieved, but no wail from their slumber will come ; 
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. 

They died, aye ! they died; we things that are now. 
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
And make in their dwelling a transient abode. 
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. 

Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain. 
We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'Tis the wink of the eye, 'tis the draught of a breath. 
From the blossom of health, to the paleness of death ; 



352 ELOCUTION." 

From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, 
Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 

HYMN. G. S. M. 

"TTe, xoMch do believe, have entered into rest! " 
Aye, now ! though round our souls are wildly rolling 

The waves of care and trouble, mountain high ; 
Though funeral bells o'er our dead hopes are tolling — 

And clouds and darkness mark our earthly sky ; 

The soul hath many an ['■ upper room" of sadness 
Where, "in the midst" appears her risen Lord, 

Whose presence turns the bitterest grief to gladness. 
By one low-spoken, yet Almighty word — 

" Peace ! " All unheeded is the tempest sweeping 
Around the spirit — for within the doors 
The Master stands to ^ive us joy for weeping. 
And shed upon our hearts love's choicest stores. 

*' We' enter into rest." The " Sabbath keeping " 
May be begun in hearts afar from home. 
E'en though our eyes may be well used to weeping, 
Though in the wilderness our feet may roam. 

Unseen by human eyes, the light is beaming, 

Its pure and quiet radiance on our way. 
From out the opened heavens upon us streaming. 

And turning for us darkness into day. 

"We have believed" — we trust the word unfailing, 
And here and now, " do enter into rest; " 

"We have believed " — no foe our peace assailing, 
Can break the soul's repose on Jesus' breast. 



EEADING OF POETRY. 353 

READING OF POETRY. 

Poetry, — '<the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge." 

Wordsworth. 
" — " intellect colored by the feelings," — Prof. Wilson. 
«< — " the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotion." 

Wordsworth. 

*' " Thoughts that voluntary move 

Harmonious numbers." — 3IiUon. 
<' " The suggestion, by means of the imagination, of noble 

grounds for noble emotions." — Ruskin. 

Poetry, — "the utterance of a passion for truth, beauty, and 
power, embodying and illustrating its convictions by imagination 
and fancy, and modulating its language on the principle of variety 
in uniformity." — Leigh Hunt. 

Poetry, — "the eldest voice of time, the undying melody of the 
heart; poetry — the language of the spirit, the inward sense of 
history, of eloquence, of fiction, and of philosophy, united to the 
harmony of sound." — H. Giles. 

A poetical line or verse consists of a certain number of 
accented and unaccented syllables, arranged according to 
fixed rules. It was originally called verse, (from the Latin 
verto, to turn,) because when we have finished one line, we 
turn back to commence the other ; as, 

" To suffer well is well to serve." — Whittier. 

Versification is the harmonious arrangement of a certain 
number and variety of accented and unaccented syllables, 
according to particular laws. 

Poetical feet are divisions of a line of poetry, each 
consisting of two or three syllables, regularly accented. 

They are called feet, because it is by their aid that the voice steps 
through the verse in a measured pace. 

The feet of two syllables are the 

Iambus (^-), accented on the second syllable ; as, con-tent. 
Trochee (-"^), accented onVae first syllable; as, part-ing.- 
Spondee ( — ), with both syllables long ; as, A-men. 
30^ X 



354 ELOCUTION. 

PyrrMc (^v), with both syllables short ; as pi-ly — in hap-pily. 

The feet of three syllables are the 

Anapaest (w-), accented on the third bjWoMq ; as, non-con-cur. 

Dactyl (-U V ), accented on ihQ first syllable ; as, love-li-ness. 

AmpMbrach (^-v), accented on the second syllable; as, re-liict- 
ant. 

Tribrach (^ wj, with all short; as, | It-a-ble \ in illimitable. 

Amphimacer (-v-), with the first and third long; as, | winding 
sheet. I 

Bacchus (u — ), with the second and third long; as, | the diill 
sky. I 

Antibacchus ( — w), with the first and second long: as, | deer- 
stealing. I 
Molossus ( ), all long; as, | Stitch! stitch! stitch! j 

"Trochee | trips from | long to | short; 
From long to long in solemn sort. 
Slow Spon I dee stalks; | strong foot! | yet ill able 
Ever to | come up with | Dactyl tri | syllable. ] 
lam I bics march [ from short | to long | 
With a leap | and a bound | the swift An | apststs throng, | 
One sylla | ble long, with | one short at | each side 
Amphibrach | ys hastes with | a stately | stride. 
First and last | being long | middle short | amphima [ cer, 
Strikes his thun | dering hoofs | like a proud | high-bred Ra | cer." 

Mi<:trical Feet. — Coleridge. 

E-lljTlie is the coiTesponclence in sound of the last ac- 
cented syllable of one line of poetry, with that of the last 
accented syllable of another ; as, 
" Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, 

Full of sad experience moving toward the stillness of his rest." 

Tennyson. 

A Stanza is a combination of several verses varying in 
number according to the poet's fancy, and constituting a 
regular division of a poem or song ; as, 

"Eejoice in hope! The day and night 
Are one with Grod, and one with them 
Who see by faith the cloudy hem 
Of Judgment fringed with Mercy's light." — Whittier. 



VERSIFICATION. 855 

Blank Verse is the expression of poetical thoughts in 
regular numbers, but without rhyme, each verse being 
composed of five iambic feet ; thus, 

" If thou I be one | whose heart | the ho [ ly forms | 
Of young I imag | ina | tion have | kept pure, | 
— Henceforth be warned ; and know that Pride, 
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, 
Is littleness ; that he who feels contempt 
For any living thing, hath faculties 
"Which he has never used ; that thought with him, 
Is in its infancy. The man whose eye 
Is ever on himself doth look on one, 
The least of Nature's works, — one who might move 
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds 
Unlawful ever. Oh! be wiser thou; 
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love, 
True dignity abides with him alone 
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought. 
Can still suspect, and still revere himself. 
In lowliness of heart." — Wordsworth. 

Scanning is the dividing of verse into feet, in order to ascer- 
tain whether the number and arrangement of the syllables 
are according to the laws of versification. A line in which 
a syllable is wanting is said to be catalectic ; one which 
is complete, acatalectic ; one in which there is a redundant 
syllable, hyper catalectic, or hypermefer. 

The Iambus, Trochee, Anapa3St, and Dactyl are the principal 
feet. Only of these may a poem be wholly or in great part formed. 
According as each may prevail in a poem, the verse is called Iam- 
bic, Trochaic, Anapsestic, or Dactylic. 

A line that consists wholly of but one kind of foot is called jswre; 
as, 

" They al | so serve | who on | ly stand | and Wait | ." — Milton. 

Verses not consisting exclusively of one kind of foot are called 
mixed; as, 

"Doubt I that Thy pow | er can fill | the heart | that Thy pow | er 
expands? | " — Robert Br oioning. 



356 ELOCUTION. 

A line consisting of one foot is called Monometer ; as 

j "Work! work! work! | " — Hood. 

Of two feet, Dimeter; as, 

" Slackeu | not silil yet | 
At inlet | or island ; | 
Straight for the \ beacon steer, | 
Straight for the | high land. | " — Mrs. Souther/, 

Of three feet. Trimeter ; as, 

" Bear through | sorrow | wrong and | riith 
In thy 1 heart the j dew of | youth, 
On thy I lips the | smile of | truth." — Longfellow. 

Of four feet, Tetrameter ; as, 

" Sublime | signif | icance | of mouth, | 
Dilat { ed nos | tril full [ of youth, | 
And fore ] head roy I" al with | the truth. | " 

Mrs. Browning. 

Of five feet, Pentameter ; as, 

"Night reads { in si | lence her | eter [ nal psalm, J 
The gos I pel of | the dark | ness, penned | in light, | 
The starred j evan | gel of | infin | ity ! | " — Stoddard. 

Of six feet. Hexameter ; as, 

" A needless Alexandrine ends the song 
That like | a wound | ed snail | drags Its | slow length | along. | " 

Pope. 

This measure is sometimes written in two lines, the first containing four 
the second, two feet ; thus, 

" Then of what | is to be | and of what | is done | 
Why quer | iest thou ? | 
The past | and the time j to be | are one | 

And both | are now! | " — Whittier. 

Of seven feet, Heptameter ; as, 

"Onward | in the | path of ] duty, | mindful | only | of the right. | '* 



HARMONIC PAUSES. 357 

This form is usually written in two lines, the first containing four feet, 
the second, three; thus, 

*<I've heard | of hearts | unkind ; j kind deeds | 
With cold I ness still | retiirning : | 
Alas ! I the grat | itude | of man ] 

Has oft I ener left | me mourning. | " — Wordsworth. 

"He pray | eth best, | who lov | eth best | 
AH things I both great | and small ; | 
For the | dear God | who lov | eth us, | 

He made | and lov | eth all. | " — Coleridge. 

"So Na I tiire keeps j the rev | erent frame | 
With which j her years ] began, | 
And all | her signs | and voic | es shame | 

The prayer | less heart j of man. | " — Whittier. 

Of eight feet, Octameter ; as, 

"Peace at | last! Of | peace e | ternal | is her | calm, sweet | 
smile a | token." — Miss Procter. - 

This measure is generally divided into two lines ; thus, 

*'No path I we shun, | no dark | ness dread, | 
Our hearts | still whis j pering, Thou | art near! j " — Holmes. 

"Oiir mid | night is | Thy smile [ withdrawn; | 
Our noon | tide is | Thy gra | cious dawn ; | 
Our rain | bow arch | Thy mer | cy's sign; | 
All, save ] the clouds | of sin, [ are Thine! 1 " — Ibid. 



POETICAL OR HARMONIC PAUSES. 

Besides the Sentential and Rhetorical Pauses, before no- 
ticed, we have also the Poetical or HariGOnlc, which are 
those used to show the harmony of versiiicatioD. 

They are divided into three cljisses ; viz. : 

The Final Pause, a short pause often used at the end 
of a line of poetry to mark the rhyme ; as, 

"Diverse | as their varied labours || the rewards | to each that 
fall, ... 



356 ELOCUTION. 

But love I Avhat she loves in others, || evermore | her own doth 

call ; . . . 
Thus I the several joy of each || becomes the common | joy of 

all." ... I — 'Cardinal Damiani. 

The Csesural Pause is one used to divide a line of poetry 
into equal or unequal parts ; as, 

after labors, others, and each, in the preceding example. 

The Demi-Csesural Pause is a short pause which some- 
times divides the parts of the line already divided by the 
Caesura ; as, 

after diverse, rewards, love, evermore, thus, and common. 

It will be observed that the places for the occurrence of the Cse- 
sural and Demi-Csesural, always depend upon the Sentential and Rhe- 
torical pauses ; thu-s, believing that the sense of the passage demands 
that the Rhetorical pause should be used after curfew, in the line 

"The curfew . . . tolls the knell of parting day," 

the Csesural also occurs there ; but if, from a misunderstanding of 
the true meaning, we should imagine that ^ne^Z was placed in appo- 
sition with curfew, we should have both the rhetorical and csesural 
pause occurring after tolls ; as, 

" The curfew tolls . . . the knell of parting day." 

When no pause is required either by the punctuation or the sen- 
timent, the harmonic pause should not be observed. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Dimeter. 

'Launch thy bark, mariner! 
Christian, God speed thee ; 
Let loose the rudder bands, 
Good angels lead thee ! 
Set thy sails warily. 
Tempests will come ; 
Steer thy course steadily. 
Christian, steer home." 

Mariner's Hymn. — Mrs. Sout\ey. 



ILLUSTEATIONS. — TEIMETEE. 359 

"As torrents in summer, 
Half dried in their channels, 
Suddenly rise, though the 
Sky is still cloudless, 
For rain has been falling 
Far off at their fountains; 

" So hearts that are fainting 
Grow full to o'erflowing, 
And they that behold it 
Marvel, and know not 
That God at their fountains 
Far off has been raining! 

" The dawn is not distant, 
Nor is the night starless ; 
Love is eternal ! 
God is still God, and 
His faith shall not fail us, 
Christ is eternal! " 

The Saga of King Olaf. — Longfellow, 

Dimeter and Trimeter. 

**Whate'er the loss, 
Whate'er the cross. 
Shall they complain 
Of present pain 
Who trust in God's hereafter ? " 

Luther's Hymn. — Whittier. 

Trimeter. 

'*Yet seeking, ever seeking 

Like the children, I have won 
A guerdon all undreamt of 

When first my guest begun. 
And my thoughts come back like wanderers, 

Out-wearied, to my breast; 
What they sought for long they found not. 

Yet was the unsought best. 
For I sought not out for crosses, 

I did not seek for pain ; 



360 ELOCUTION. 

Yet I find the heart's sore losses 
Were the spirit's surest gain." 

Seeking.' — Miss Greenwell, 

" He gives what He gives. Be content! 
He resumes nothing given, — be sure ! 
God lend ? Where the usurers lent 
In his temple, indignant He went 
And scourged away all those impure. 

*'He lends not; but gives to the end. 
As He loves to the end. If it seem 
That He draws back a gift, comprehend 
'Tis to add to it rather, — amend, 
And finish it up to your dream." 

Only a Cuel. — Ifrs. Browning^ 

Trimeter, Dimeter, and Tetrameter. 

" ' Two hands upon the breast. 
And labor's done; 
Two pale feet crossed in rest — 

The race is won ; 
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, 

And all tears cease; 
Two lips where grief is mute. 
Anger at peace ; ' — 
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot : 
God in His kindness answer eth not. 

" ' Two hands to woi-k addrest, 
Aye for His praise ; 
Two feet €hat never rest 

Walking His ways ; 
Two eyes that look above 
Through all their tears ; 
Two lips still breathing love. 
Not wrath, nor fears ; ' 
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees ; 
Pardon those erring prayers ! Father, hear these! " 

Now AND Afterwaeds. — Miss Muloch. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — TETRAMETER. 361 



Tetrameter. 

"Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain, 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of cypress lawn, 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and musing gait, 
And looks commercing with the skies. 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes." 

Il Penseroso. — Milton. 

** Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer ; 
With a drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wigwam. 
With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; . . . . 
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest. 
Breaking through its shields of shadow. 
Rushed into each secret ambusli. 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam." 

Hiawatha. — Longfellow. 

'And poor, proud Byron, — sad as grave 
And salt as life ! forlornly brave, 
And quivering with the dart he drave. 

' And visionary Coleridge, who 
Did sweep his thoughts as angels do 
Their wings, with cadence up the Blue." 

Vision of Poets. — Mrs. Browning. 

31 



362 ELOCUTION". 



Tetrameter and Dimeter. 

" Truth is large. Our aspiration 
Scarce embraces half we be. 
Shame ! to stand in His creation 
And doubt Truth's sufficiency ! 
To think God's song unexcelling 
The poor tales of our own telling — 

When Pan is dead. 

** brave poets, keep back nothing ; 
Nor mix falsehood with the whole ! 
Look up Godward ! speak the truth in 
Worthy song from earnest soul ! 
Hold, in high poetic duty. 
Truest Truth, the fairest Beauty ! 

Pan, Pan is dead." 

The Dead Pan. — Ihid. 

* Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 
But the tears of mournful eve ! 
Where no hope is, life 's a warning 
That only serves to make us grieve 

When we are old : 
That only serves to make us grieve 
With oft and tedious taking-leave, 
Like some poor nigh-related guest, 
That may not rudely be dismist ; 
Yet hath outstayed his welcome while. 
And tells the jest without the smile." 

Youth and Age. — Coleridge. 

Tetrameter and Trimeter. 

■ Oft in my waking dreams do I 

Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay 

Beside the ruin'd tower. 

' The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, 

Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 

My own dear Genevieve! " — Love, — Ihid. 



ILLUSTKATIONS. — PENTAMETEE. 863 

<<A maiden knight — to me is given 
Such hope, I know not fear ; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
I muse on joy that will not cease, 

Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
Pure lilies of eternal peace, 

Whose odours haunt my dreams; 
And, stricken by an angel's hand, 
^ This mortal armor that I wear, 

This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 
Are touched, are turned to finest air." 

Sir Galahad. — Tennyson. 

Pentameter. 

" All my life grows sweet, 
I know not how to name it ; from behind 

Comes up a murmur voluble and fleet 
Of mingling voices, — some were harsh, some kind, 

But all are turned'to gentleness, the wind 
That bears them onwards hath so soft a wing, 

As if it were a Dove unused to bring 
Aught but a loving message ; so Earth sends 

One only question on it from the track 
Where I have passed, ' Friends, friends ? we part as friends ? ' 

And all my soul takes up and sendeth back 
One word for echo and for answer, ' Friends.'" 

Pax in Novissimo. — 3Iiss GreenweM. 

<' Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ; 
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre doubts that roll 
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul! 
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, 
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! 
The strife is o'er, — the pangs of Nature close, 
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes." 

Pleasures op Hope. — Campbell. 

*'I cannot go 
. Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
From seeming evil still educing good. 



364 ELOCUTION. 

And better thence again, and better still, 

In infinite progression. — But I lose 

Myself in Him, in Light inefi"able ! 

Come, then, expressive silence, muse his praise." 

Hymn ON the Seasons. — Thomson. 

"How can I teach your children gentleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 
For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 

Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence. 
Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 
The selfsame light, although averted hence, 
When by your laws, your actions, and your speech. 
You contradict the very things I teach ? " 

The Birds of Killingworth. — Longfellow. 

Hexameter. 

" Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of Heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels." 

Evangeline. — Longfellow. 

"When the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the path, 

way. 
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness. 

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ; 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refresh- 
ment ; 

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. 

Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made 
godlike. 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of 
heaven ! " — Ibid. 

"Take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence. 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of 

man's childhood. 
Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on'life's roaring billows 
Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is 

sleeping. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. — HEPTAMETEE. 865 

Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; in the desert 
Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows faithful and 

humble, 
Follows so long as she may her friend ; do not reject her, 
For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens." 
Children of the Lord's Supper. — Bishop Tegner. 

Dimeter, Trimeter, Tetrameter, Pentameter, and Hexameter. 

*' Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen 
Within thy airy shell, 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
And in the violet-embroider'd vale, 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy Narcissus are ? 

0, if thou have 
Hid them in some flow'ry cave, 
Tell me but where, 
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere ; 
So may'st thou be translated to the skies. 
And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies." 

CoMus. — Milton. ' 

Heptameter. 

"Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with 
might ; 
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of 
sight." LocKSLET Hall. — Tennyson. 

** Sit not like a mourner, Brother ! by the grave of that dear Past, 
Throw the Present ! 'tis thy servant only when 'tis overcast, — 
Give battle to the leagued world, if thou 'rt worthy, truly brave, 
Thou shalt make the hardest circumstance a helper or a slave. 
As when thunder wraps the setting sun, he struggles, glows with 

ire, 
Rifts the gloom with golden furrows, with a hundred bursts of 

fire^ 
Melts the black and thunderous masses to a sphere of rosy light, 
Then on edge of glowing heaven smiles in triumph on the night." 
Life D-rama. — Alexander Smith . 
31* 



366 ELOCUTION-. 

Octameter. 

**Fear not! hopes no strengtLi. could warrant to the feeblest faith 
are given; 
Looking forward strains the eyesight, — looking upward opens 
heaven." Oir a Baptism. — Mrs. Charles. 

As before stated, this measure is usually divided, each verse making two 
of tetrameter. 

The chief faults which usually occur in the reading of poetry have 
been thus classified by Prof. Russell : 

Too rapid utterance, by which the effect of the verse is lost to the 
ear; this general hurry of the voice abridges the pauses, and sacri- 
fices every characteristic beauty of the metre : — 

A plain and dry articulation, which, though sufficiently distinct for 
meaning, withholds the appropriate tone of poetry, neglecting to 
accommodate the voice to emotion and rhythm. 

A mouthing and chanting tone, producing the effect of bombast and 
of mock solemnity. This error consists in carrying prolongation 
and swell to excess, and causing the style of reading or recitation 
to be that of extravagance and caricature, rather than of solemn 
emotion. 

A want of true time, appearing in the disproportion of syllables to 
each other, and to their places, as component parts of metrical 
feet, — in the irregular and varying succession of the different 
parts of a line, as compared with each other, — injthe want of cor- 
rectness and symmetry in the pauses, whether as compared with 
each other, or the average rate of utterance. 

A mechanical observance of the harmonic pauses, without regard to 
meaning. 

Literal and uniform reading according to the rhythm, without 
regard to emphasis. 

Let it be remembered then, that poetry should be read more 
slowly than prose, — with a moderate prolongation of vowel and liquid 
sounds, — with a slight degree of musical utterance, — in exact time, as 
prescribed by the emotion expressed in given passages, and by the 
nature of the verse. The utterance should indicate the metre, but 
should never render it prominent. 



SELECTIONS. 367 

SELECTIONS, 

DESIGNED FOR SINGLE RECITATIONS — NOT FOR READING IN CLASSES. 

EVELYN HOPE. Bohert Browning. 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 

Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 

She plucked that piece of geranium flower, 
Beginning to die too, in the glass. 

Little has yet been changed, I think : 
The shutters are shut, no light may pass 

Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died ! 

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ; 
It was not her time to love ; beside, 

Her life had many a hope and aim, 
Duties enough, and little cares. 

And now was quiet, now astir, 
Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 

And the sweet white brow is all of her. 

Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? 

What, your soul was pure and true, 
The good stars met in your horoscope. 

Made you of spirit, fire and dew, — 
And just because I was thrice as old, 

And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
Each was nought to each, must I be told ? 

We were fellow-mortals, nought beside ? 

No, indeed ! for God above , 

Is great to grant, as mighty to make. 
And creates the love to reward the love : 

I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! 
Delayed it may be for more lives yet. 

Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few : 
Much is to learn and much to forget 

Ere the time be come for taking you. 

But the time will come, — at last it vail. 

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say. 



368 ELOCUTION. 

In the lower earth, in the years long still, 

That body and soul so pure and gay ? 
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine. 

And your mouth of your own geranium's red — 
And what you would do with me, in fine, 

In the new life come in the old one's stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, 

Given up myself so many times, 
Gained me the gains of various men. 

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 
Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, 

Either I missed or itself missed me — 
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 

What is the issue ? let us see ! 

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ! 

My heart seemed full as it could hold — 
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile 

And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold. 
So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep — 

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. 
There, that is our secret ! go to sleep ; 

You will wake, and remember, and understand. 

ANNABEL LEE. Edgar A. Poe, 

It was many and many a year ago. 

In a kingdom by the sea. 
That a maiden there lived, whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love, and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea : 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee — 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago. 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 



SELECTIONS. 869 

So that her high-born kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 

In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in hearen, 

Went envying her and me, 
Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know. 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we. 

Of many far wiser than we; 
And neither the angels in heaven above. 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And so all the night-time, I lie down by the side 

Of my darling — my darling — my life. and my bride. 
In the sepulchre there by the sea. 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

MOTHER AND POET. Mrs. Browning. 

TURIN, AFTER NEWS FROM tfAETA, 186 L 

Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east, 

And one of them shot in the west by the sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast 

And are wanting a great song for Italy free, 
Let none look at me! 

Yet I was a poetess only last year, 

And good at my art, for a woman, men said; 
But this woman, tJiis, who is agonized here, 

— The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head 
For ever instead. 

Y 



870 ELOCUTION. 

What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain! 

What art is she good at, but hurting her breast 
With the milk teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ? 

Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed 
And I proud, by that test. 

What art's for a woman ? To hold on her knees 

Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat, 

Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees 

And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ; 
To dream and to doat. 

To teach them . . It stings there ! / made them indeed 
Speak plain the word country/, /taught them, no doubt, 

That a country 's a thing men should die for at need. 
/ prated of liberty, rights, and about 
The tyrant cast out. 

And when their eyes flashed. . my beautiful eyes ! . . 

/ exulted ; nay, let them go forth at the wheels 
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise 

When one sits quite alone! Then one weeps, then one kneels! 
God, how the house feels ! 

At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled 

With my kisses, — of camp-life and glory, and how 
.They both loved me ; and, soon coming home to be spoiled. 
In return would fan off every fly from my brow 
With their green laurel-bough. 

Then was triumph at Turin! " Ancona was free! " 
And some one came out of the cheers in the street. 

With a' face pale as stone, to say something to me. 
My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet, 
While they cheered in the street. 

I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime 

As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 
To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time 

When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained 
To the height he had gained. 

And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, 
Writ now but in one hand, " I was not to faint, — 



SELECTIONS. 371 

One loved me for two — would be with me ere long : 
And Viva l' Italia ! — he died for, our saint, 
Who forbids our complaint." 

My Nannie would add, "he was safe, and aware 
Of a presence that turned off the balls, — was imprest 

It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, 
And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed, 
To live on for the rest." 

On which, without pause, up the telegraph line 

Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta : — Shot. 

Tell his mother. Ah, ah, <'his," "their" mother, — not "mine," 
No voice says " My mother " again to me. What ! 
You think Guido forgot? 

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven, 
They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe ? 

I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven 
Through That Love and Sorrow which reconciled so 
The Above and Below. 

Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst through the dark 
To the face of Thy Mother ! Consider, I pray, 

How we common mothers stand desolate, mark. 

Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, 
And no last word to say ! 

Both boys dead? but that's out of nature. We all 

Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 

'T were imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ; 
And, when Italy 's made, for what end is it done 
If we have not a son? 

Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta 's taken, what then? 

When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport 
Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men ? 

When the guns of Cavalli with final retort, 
Have cut the game short? 

When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee, 

When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red. 
When you have your country from mountain to sea, 

When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, 
(And / have my Dead) — 



372 ELOCUTION. 

What then? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low, 
And burn your lights faintly ! My country is there. 

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow ; 
My Italy 's there, with my brave civic Pair, 
To disfranchise despair! 

Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, 
And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn ; 

But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length 
Into wail such as this — and we sit on forlorn 
When the Man-Child is born. 

Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east, . 

And one of tfiem shot in the west by the sea. 
Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast 

You want a great song for your Italy free, 
Let none look at me! 

[This was Laura Savio, of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose sons 
were killed at Ancona and Gaeta.] 



LOVED ONCE. Ihid. 

I classed, appraising once, 
Earth's lamentable sounds ; the welladay, 

The jarring yea and nay, 
The fall of kisses on unanswering clay. 
The sobbed farewell, the welcome mournfuller ; — 

But all did leaven the air 
With a less bitter leaven of sure despair, 

Than these words — "I loved once." 

And who saith, " I loved once ? " 
Not angels, whose clear eyes, love, love, foresee, 

Love through eternity ! 
Who, by To Love, do apprehend To Be. 
Not God, called Love, his noble crown-name, — casting 

A light too broad for blasting ! 
The great God changing not from everlasting, 

Saith never, "I loved once." 

Nor ever the " Loved once," 
Dost THOU say, Victim-Christ, misprized friend ! 

The cross and curse may rend ; 
But, having loved, Thou lovest to the end ! 



SELECTIONS. 378 

It is man's saying — man's ! Too weak to move 

One sphered star abo%se, 
Man desecrates the eternal God-word Love 

With his No More, and Once. 

How say ye, "We loved once," 
Blasphemers ? Is your earth not cold enow, 

Mourners, without that snow ''. 
Ah, friends ! and would ye wrong each other so ? 
And could ye say of some, whose love is known, 

Whose prayers have met your own. 
Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shone, 

Such words, "We loved them once ?" 

Could ye, "We loved her once," 
Lay calm of me, sweet friends, when out of sight? 

When hearts of better right 
Stand in between me and your happy light ? 
And when, as flowers kept too long in the shade, 

Ye find my colours fade. 
And all that is not love in me, decayed ? 

Such words — Ye loved me once ! 

Could ye, "We loved her once," 
Say cold of me, when further put away 

In earth's sepulchral clay? 
When mute the lips which deprecate to-day ? — 
Not so ! not then — least then ! when Life is shriven 

And death's full joy is given, — 
Of those who sit and love you up in Heaven, 

Say not, "We loved them once." 

Say never, ye loved once! 
God is too near above, the grave below, 

And all our moments go 
Too quickly past our souls, for saying so: 
The mysteries of Life and Death avenge 

Affections light of range — 
There comes no change to justify that change, 

Whatever comes — loved once ! 

And yet that word of once 
Is humanly acceptive ! Kings have said^ 

Shaking a discrowned head, 
32 



374 ELOCUTION. 

"We ruled once," — idiot tongues, "We once bested," — 
Cripples once danced i' the vines — and bards approved 

Were once by scornings, moved ! 
But love strikes one hour — Love. Those never loved, 

Who dream that they loved once. 

STANZAS. 

From "In Memoriam." — Tennyson, 

The love that rose on stronger wings, 
Unpalsied when he met with Death, 
Is comrade of the lesser faith 

That sees the course of human things. 

No doubt, vast eddies in the flood 

Of onward time shall yet be made. 

And throned races may degrade ; 
Yet, oh ye ministers of good. 

Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear, 

If all your office had to do 

With old results that look like new, 
If this were all your mission here. 

To draw, to sheathe a useless sword. 
To fool the crowd with glorious lies, 
To cleave a creed in sects and cries. 

To change the bearing of a woi^d, 

To shift an arbitrary power, 

To cramp the student at his desk, 

To make old baseness picturesque 
And tuft with grass a feudal tower ; 

Why then my scorn might well descend 

On you and yours. I see in part 

That all, as in some piece of art, 
Is toil cooperant to an end. 



SELECTIONS. 375 

" DIES IR^." Thomas de Celano. 

[Translated hy General Dix."] 

That day, a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of 
wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds 
and thick darkness, a day of the trumpet and alarm against the fenced cities, 
and against the high towers! — Zephaniah i. 15, 16. 

Day of vengeance, without morrow! 
Earth shall end in flame and sorrow, 
As from Saint and Seer we Iborrow. 

Ah ! what terror is impending, 
When the Judge is seen descending, 
And each secret veil is rending. 

To the throne, the trumpet sounding, 
Through the sepulchres resounding, 
Summons all, with voice astounding. 

Death and Nature, mazed, are quaking, 
When, the grave's long slumber breaking, 
Man to judgment is awaking. 

On the written Volume's pages. 
Life is shown in all its stages — 
Judgment-record of past ages ! 

Sits the Judge, the raised arraigning, 
Darkest mysteries explaining, 
Nothing unavenged remaining. 

What shall I then say, unfriended, 

By no advocate attended, 

When the just are scarce defended? 

King of majesty tremendous, 
By Thy saving grace defend us. 
Fount of pity, safety send usl 

Holy Jesus, meek, forbearing. 

For my sins the death-crown wearing, 

Save me, in that day, despairing. 

Worn and weary. Thou hast sought me ; 
By Thy cross and passion bought me — 
Spare the hope Thy labors brought me. 



876 ELOCUTION. 

Righteous Judge of retribution, 
Give, give me absolution 
Ere the day of dissolution. 

As a guilty culprit groaning. 
Flushed my face, my errors, owning. 
Hear, God, my spirit's moaning ! 

Thou to Mary gav'st remission, 
Heard'st the dying thief's petition, 
Bad'st me hope in my contrition. 

In my prayers no grace discerning, 
Yet on me Thy favor turning, 
. Save my soul from endless burning. 

Give me, when Thy sheep confiding 
Thou art from the goats dividing, 
On Thy right a place abiding! 

When the wicked are confounded. 
And by bitter flames surrounded, 
Be my joyful pardon sounded! - 

Prostrate, all my guilt discerning. 
Heart as though to ashes turning ; 
Save,- save me from the burning ! 

Day of weeping, when from ashes 
Man shall rise mid lightning flashes, 
. Guilty, trembling with contrition, 
Save him, Father, from perdition! 

EXTRACT FROM "DE PROFUXDIS." 

3Irs. Browning. 
He reigns above. He reigns alone ; 
Systems burn out and leave His throne : 
Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall 
Around Him, changeless amid all, — 
Ancient of Days, whose days go on. 

He reigns below. He reigns alone, 
And, having life in love foregone 
Beneath the crown of sovran thorns, 
He reigns the Jealous God. Who mourns 
Or rules with Him, while days go on ? 



SELECTIONS. 377 

By aBguish. which made pale the sun, 
I hear Him charge His saints that none 
Among His creatures anywhere 
Blaspheme against Him with despair, 
However darkly days go on. 

Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown ! 
No mortal grief deserves that crown. 

stipreme Love, chief Misery, 
The sharp regalia are for Thee 
Whose days eternally go on ! 

For us, — whatever 's undergone, 
Thou knowest, wiliest what is done. 
Grief may be joy misunderstood; 
Only the Good discerns the good. 

1 trust Thee while my days go on. 

Whatever 's lost, it first was won: 

We will not struggle nor impugn. 

Perhaps the cup was broken here, 

That Heaven's new wine might show more clear. 

I praise Thee while my days go on. 

I praise Thee while my days go on ; 

I love Thee while my days go on : 

Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, 

With emptied arms and treasure lost, 

I thank Thee while my days go on. 

And having in Thy life-depth thrown 
Being and suffering (which are one), 
As a child drops his pebble small" 
Down some deep well, and hears it fall 
Smiling — so I. Thy days go on. 

PEOSPICE. Robert Browning. 

Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat, 

The mist in my face. 
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote 

I am nearing the place. 
The power of the night, the press of the storm, 

The post of the foe ; 

32* 



378 ELOCUTION. 

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, 

Yet the strong man must go : 
For the journey is done and the summit attained. 

And the harriers fall, 
Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, 

The reward of it all. 
I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more. 

The best and the last! 
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 

And bade me creep past, 
. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like any peers, 

The heroes of old, 
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 

Of pain, darkness,, and cold. 
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave. 

The black minute's at end^ 
And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave. 

Shall dwindle, shall blend. 
Shall change, shall become first a peace, then a joy, 

Then a light, then thy^ breast, 
thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, 

And with God be the rest ! 

ADAM TO EVE. 
From " The Drama of Exile. — 3lr8. Browning. 

Raise the majesties 
Of thy disconsolate brows, well-beloved. 
And front with level eyelids the To come. 
And all the dark o' the world. Rise, woman, rise 
To thy peculiar and best altitudes 
Of doing good and of enduring ill, — 
Of comforting for ill, and teaching good. 
And reconciling all that ill and good 
Unto the patience of a constant hope, — 
Rise with thy daughters !>-If sin came by thee, 
And by sin, death, — the ransom-righteousness, 
The heavenly life and compensative rest 
Shall come by means of thee. If wo by thee 
Had issue to the w^orld, thou shalt go forth 
An angel of the wo thou didst achieve ; 
Found acceptable to the world instead 



SELECTION'S. 379 

Of others of that name, of whose bright steps 

Thy deed stripped bare the hills. Be satisfied ; 

Sometbing thou hast to bear through womanhood — 

Peculiar suffering answering to the sin ; 

Some pang paid down for each new human life ; 

Some weariness in guarding such a life — 

Some coldness from the guarded ; some mistrust 

From those thou hast too well served ; from those beloved 

Too loyally, some treason : feebleness 

Within thy heart, and cruelty without ; 

And pressures of an alien tyranny, , 

With its dynastic reasons of larger bones 

And stronger sinews. But, go to ! thy love 

Shall chant itself its own beatitudes, " 

After its own life-working. A child's kiss 

Set on thy sighing lips, shall make thee glad : 

A poor man served by thee, shall make thee rich ; 

A sick man, helped by thee, shall make thee strong ; 

Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense 

Of service which thou render est. Such a crown 

I set upon thy head, — Christ witnessing 

With looks of prompting love — to keep thee clear 

Of all reproach against the sin foregone, 

From all the generations which succeed. 

Thy hand which plucked the apple, I clasp close ; 

The lips which spake wrong counsel, I kiss close, — 

I bless thee in the name of Paradise, 

And by the memory of Edenic joys 

Forfeit and lost ; — by that last cypress tree 

Green at the gate, which thrilled as we came out; 

And by the blessed nightingale, which threw 

Its melancholy music after us ; — 

And by the flowers, whose spirits full of smells 

Did follow softly, plucking us behind 

Back to the gradual banks and vernal bowers 

And fourfold river-courses : — by all these, 

I bless thee to the contraries of these ; 

I bless thee to the desert and the thorns, 

To the elemental change and turbulence, 

And to the roar of the estranged beasts, 

And to the solemn dignities of grief, — 

To each one of these ends, — and to their end 

Of Death and the hereafter 



380 ELOCUTION. 



THY WILL BE DONE. JoJin G. Whittier, 

We see not, know not ; all our way 
Is night, — with Thee alone is day: 
From out the torrent's troubled drift, 
Above the storm our prayers we lift. 
Thy will be done ! 

The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, 
But who are we to make complaint, 
Or dare to plead, in times like these, 
The weakness of our love of ease ? 
Thy will be done! 

We take with solemn thankfulness 
Our burden up, nor ask it less, 
And count it joy that even we 
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, 
Whose will be done ! 

Though dim as yet in tint and line. 
We trace Thy picture's wise design, 
And thank Thee that our age supplies • 

Its dark relief of sacrifice. 
Thy will be done ! 

And if, in our unworthiness, 
Thy sacrificial wine we press. 
If from Thy ordeal's heated bars 
Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, 
Thy will be done ! 

If, for the age to come, this hour 
_0f trial hath vicarious power. 
And, blest by Thee, our present pain 
Be Liberty's eternal gain. 
Thy will be done ! 

Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys. 
The anthem of the destinies ! 
The minor of Thy loftier strain, 
Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, 
Thy will be done ! 



ACTION. 883 



ACTION. 

Action is the expression of thought by means of differ- 
ent movements of the body. 

"No one can recite with propriety wliat he does not feel; the key to 
gesture, as well as to modulation, is earnestness. No one can portray char- 
acter unless he can realize it, and he can realize it only by making it for 
the time his own. 

"In the natural order of passionate expression, looks are first, gestures 
second, and words lust. Inexpressive motions should always be avoided. 
No gesture should be made without a reast)n for it ; and when any gesture 
has been assumed, there should be no change from it without a reason. 
The habit of allowing the hands to fall to the side immediately after every 
gesture, produces an ungracefully restless effect. The speaker seems 

'Awkward, embarrassed, stiif, without the skill 
Of moving gracefully, or standing still — 
Blessed with all other requisites to please, 
He wants the striking elegance of ease.' 

" Some orators accompany every vocal accent with a bodily motion ; but 
the consequence is that their monotonous manipulations fatigue the eye. 
A gesture that illustrates nothing is ivorse than useless; it destroys the 
effect of really appropriate movements." 

The following principles have been gleaned, for the most part, from 
Austin's " Chironomia," to which work teachers are referred for a full expo- 
sition of the subject of gesture. 

The gracefulness of motion in the human frame, consists in the facility 
and security with which it is executed; and the grace of any position 
depends upon the ease with which it can be varied. Hence, in standing, 
the position is graceful when the weight of the body is principally sup- 
ported on one leg, while the other is so placed as to be ready to relieve it 
promptly and without effort. . . . The foot which sustains the principal 
weight (usually the left) must be so placed that a perpendicular line, let 
fall from the pit of the neck, would pass through the heel, — the centre of 
gravity of the body being for the time in that line, while the other foot 
merely assists in preserving this position. The characteristics of a good 
attitude are, firmness, freedom, simplicity, and grace. The appearance of 
the orator should be equally removed from the awkwardness of the rustic, 
■with toes turned in and knees bent, and from the affectation of the dancing 
master, whose position is 'the opposite extreme. The sustaining foot is to 
be planted firmly; the leg braced, but not contracted; the other foot and 
limb being relaxed, ready for immediate, though oftentimes almost imper- 
ceptible change and action. 

All awkward habits should be carefully avoided: as, resting the weight 
of the body alternately on one foot and then on the other; swinging to 



382 ELOCUTION. 

and fro; jerking the body forward at every emphatic word; keeping the 
elbows pinioned to the sides and sawing the air with one hand, with one 
unvaried and ungraceful motion. As gesture is used for the illustration 
and enforcement of language, it should be limited, in its application, to 
such words and passages as admit of or require it, frequent change giving 
the idea of anxiety or instability. A judicious speaker will not only adapt 
the general style and manner of action to the subject, the place, and the 
occasion, but even when allowing himself the greatest latitude, he will 
reserve the force and ornament of gesture for those parts of his discourse 
containing his boldest thoughts or most brilliant expressions. 

As . the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it principally 
contribute to the expression of grace in delivery. Its position should be 
erect and natural; for, when drooping, it indicates humility or diffidence; 
when thrown back, arrogance ; when inclined to one side, languor or indif- 
ference ; when stiff and rigid, a lack of ease and self-possession. — The 
eyes, which are of greatest importance in aiding the expression of the ora- 
tor, should generally be directed as the gesture points, excepting when 
we wish to condemn, refuse, or require any object to be removed ; in which 
case we should at' the same moment express aversion in the countenance, 
and rejection by the gesture. — A listless, inanimate expression will always 
detract from the effect of the most eloquent sentiments, and the most 
appropriate utterance. 

The bow of the speaker to his audience should be graceful and dignified, 
free from a careless, jerking abruptness, or from a formal, unnecessary 
flourish. 

Some of the most frequent gestures, to whicli the various members 
of the body contribute, are as follow : — 

The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, 
or grief: holding it up, pride or courage: to nod forward implies 
assent : to toss the head back, dissent : the inclination of the head im- 
plies bashfulness or languor : it is averted in dislike or horror : it 
leans forward in attention. 

The Eyes. The eyes are raised, in prayer: they weep in sorrow: 
burn, in anger: they are cast on vacancy, in thought: they are 
thro2on in different directions, in doubt and anxiety. 

The Arms. The arms are j5ro/ec^e<f forward, in authority: both 
arms are spread extended, in admiration: they are held forward, in 
imploring help : they both fall suddenly, in disappointment : folded, 
they denote thoughtfulness. 

The arm, when not employed in preparing for the terminating 
act of gesture, should never exhibit an angle at the elboio, but be always 
freely extended, yet zvithout the rigidness of a straight line; a moderate 
bending of the elbow being requisite to freedom and grace. 



ACTiojsr. 383 

The Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain or distress ; also 
thoughtfulness : on the eyes, shame : on the lips, an injunction of 
silence: on the breast, it appeals to conscience, or to the affections. 
It waves, or flourishes, in joy or contempt. Both hands are held su- 
pine, or clasped, in prayer both descend prone, in blessing : they 
are clasped or wrung ill afBiction. The outstretched hands, with the 
knuckles opposite the speaker's face, express fear, abhorrence, re- 
jection, or dismissal ; with the palms towards the face of the speaker, 
they denote approval, acceptation, welcoming, and love. 

" The other parts of the body aid the speaker ; these, I can almost say, 
speak themselves. By them, we ask, promise, call, dismiss, threaten, sup- 
plicate, detest, fear, display joy, sorrow, doubt, acknowledgment, peni- 
tence, manner, abundance, number, time. Do they not excite? restrain? 
implore? approve? wonder at? express shame ? Do they not obtain the 
place of adverbs and pronouns in pointing outplaces and persons? So 
that amid the great diversity of language among all races and nations, this 
appears to me to be the common speech of all men." — Qidntilian. 

The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage; 
thrown hack, pride; stooping forward, condescension, or compassion; 
bending, reverence, or respect. Prostration indicates the utmost 
humility or abasement. 

The Lower Limbs. Their ^rm position signifies courage or obsti- 
nacy; bended knees, timidity, or weakness, — reverence: frequent 
change, disturbed thoughts. They advance in desire or courage; 
retire, in aversion or fear ; start, in terror ; stamp, in authority, or 
anger; kneel, in submission and prayer. 

Motions towards the body indicate self-esteem, egotism, or invita- 
tion ; from the body, command or repulsion; expanding gestures ex- 
press liberality, distribution, acquiescence, or candor ; contracting 
gestures, frugality, reserve, or collection ; rising motions express 
suspension, climax, or appeal ; falling, completion, declaration, or 
response; a sudden stop in gesture denotes doubt, meditation, or 
listening ; a sudden movement, decision or discovery ; a broad and 
sweeping range of gesture illustrates a general statement, or ex- 
presses boldness, freedom, and self-possession ; a limited range de- 
notes diffidence or constraint, or illustrates a subordinate point ; 
rigidity of muscle denotes firmness, strength, or effort ; laxity, lan- 
guor or weakness; slow motions are expressive of gentleness, cau- 
tion, and deliberation ; quick motions, of harshness, temerity, 
haste, &c. 

The principal lines of ge.stures are : — • 

The descending, used with great energy in strong assertion and 
vehement argumentation, in emphatic declaration and forcible 
appeal. 



384 ELOCUTION. 

The horizontal, (the hand rising to a horizontal level with the 
shouldei's,) appropriate in elevated and general thought or descrip- 
tion, and in geographical and historical allusions. 

The ascending, (the hand rising nearly to a level with the head,) 
expressive of sublimity of thought or feeling. 

From these arise three others : — 

The gesture in front, appropriately used in strong or emphatic 
statements, and terminating in the descending, horizontal, or as- 
cending lines, according to the character of the thought and the 
language. 

The gesture oblique, falling in an intermediate line between one 
drawn in front of the speaker's body, and one drawn from his side. 
This has neither the force of the gesture,in front, nor the peculiarity 
of the gesture extended, terminating upward, downward, or hori- 
zontally, according to the nature of the sentiment expressed. 

The gesture extended, (falling in a line with the side,) appropriate 
in the expression of ideas of extent and space, or forming the ter- 
minating point to a wave or sweep of gesture, in negation, rejection, 
&c., and closing in an upward or downward position, as before. 

The movement or sweep of the arm, in preparing for gesture, 
should always be free and graceful, but avoiding too much extent of 
apace, and performed in strict time with the^ movement of the voice 
in utterance. (In impassioned declamation, the gesture may imme- 
diately jsT-ec^c^e the utterance of the words.) The line 0/ motion in 
gesture describes n curve, and avoids in all action but that of the 
humorous style, a confined or angular movement. 

The frequency of gesture must be prescribed by the character of 
the seiitiment, and the style of language, as moderate and plain, or 
impassioned and figurative. . 

All action must arise directly from the sense of what is spoken, and 
never from arbitrary notions of variety or grace. True variety is the 
result of a due observance of the preparatory and terminating lines 
of gesture ; and grace consists merely in preserving these from 
awkward deviations. 

The use of the left hand, whether singly or in conjunction with - 
the right, depends not on arbitrary opinions of propriety or grace, 
but usually on necessity, felt by the speaker, either as regards 
himself or his audience. This form of gesture, as far as it is a 
matter of choice, should be rarely adopted. 

Gesture should be fluent and connected, not abrupt and desultory, 
or appearing and disappearing in a capricious manner. 



ACTION. 385 

'^A truly natural manner is free from local faults; it is formed on broad 
views and general principles ; it is true to nature as a whole, — not to 
some confined or accidental part of it. It is enlightened by compre.hensive 
J[udgment, and refined by pure taste. In claiming nature as our standard, 
we are too prone to forget that Imbit becomes a second nature, and that to 
judge correctly, we must see beyond its narrow limits, and reach to prin- 
ciples and laws everywhere applicable, and recognized by all cultivated 
minds." 

33 Z 



386 ELOCUTION. 



SELECTIONS. 

SCENE FROM "JULIUS CMSAH."— ShaTceepeare. 

SPEECHES OF BRUTUS AND ANT',NY, ON THE DEATH OF C^SAR. 

Bru. Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; and 
be silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine honour ; and have 
respect to mine honour, that you may believe; censure me in your 
wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him 
I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that 
friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, 
— Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 
you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar 
were dead, to live all free men ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for 
him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I 
honour him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him : There is tears, 
for his love; joy, for his fortune; honour, for his valour ; and 
death, for his ambition, "Who is here so base, that would be a 
bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I oflFended. Who is here 
so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have 
I oflFended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country ? 
If any, ^peak ; for him have I oifended. I pause for a reply. 

Cit. None, Brutus, none. [Several speaking at once.) 

Bru. Then none have I oflFended. I have done no more to 

Csesar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death 

is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was 

worthy ; nor his oflFences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with Cesar's body. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who, though he 
had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a 
place in the commonwealth ; As which of you shall not ? With this 
I depart ; That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I 
have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country 
to need my death. 

Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 

1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 



SELECTIONS. — ORATOEICAL. 387 

4 Cit. Caesar's better parts 

Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 

1 Cit. We '11 bring him to his house with shouts and clamours. 
Bru. My countrymen, 

2 Cit Peace ; silence ! Brutus speaks. 
1 Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
Do grace to Caesar's corse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark Antony, 
By our permission is allowed to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. \_Exit. 

1 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair. 
We '11 hear him : — Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 
. 4 Cit, What does he say of Brutus ? 

3 Cit. He says for Brutus' sake, 
He find himself beholden to us all. 

4 Cit. 'T were best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1 Cit. This Csesar was a tyrant. 

3 Cit. Nay, that's certain 

We are blessed that Rome is rid of him. 

2 Cit. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 
Ant. You gentle Romans, 

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us liear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ; 
.The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
So let it be with Csesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honourable man : 
So are they all, all honourable men ;) 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; . ' 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 



888 ELOCUTION. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honourable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once, not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Ctesar, 
And I must pause, till it come back to me. 

1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 

2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 

3 Cit. Has he, masters ? 

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 

4 Cit. Marked ye his words ? He would not take the crown ; 
Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 

1 Cit, If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

2 Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 

3 Cit. There 's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony. 

4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men : 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar; 



SELECTION'S. — ORATOEICAL. 389 

I found it in his closet, 'tis Ms will : 
Let but the commons hear this testament, 
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. 
Unto their issue. 

4 Cit. We '11 hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony. 

Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Caesar's will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it ; 
It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men: 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For if you should, 0, what would come of it ! 

4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. 

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? 
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
I fear, I wrong the honourable men. 
Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar : I do fear it. 

4 Cit. They were traitors : Honourable men ! 

Cit. The will ! the testament ! 

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers : The will ! read the will ! 

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? 
Then make a ring about the corse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 

Cit. Come down. 

2 Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the py,lpit. 

3 Cit. You shall have leave. 

4 Cit. A ring ; stand round. 

1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 

2 Cit. Room for AntcMy ; — most noble Antony. 
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on. 
33^ 



890 ELOCUTION". 

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; 

That day he overcome the Nervii : — 

Look ! IE this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 

See what a rent the envious Casca made ; 

Through this, the well beloved Brutus stabbed ; 

And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it; 

As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 

If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; 

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 

Judge, you gods, how dearly Ceesar loved him ! 

This was the most unkindest cut of all : 

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. 

Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart ; 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 

Even at the base of Pompey"s statua. 

Which all the while ran blood, great Cffisar fell. 

0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down. 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 

0, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 

The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, 

Here is himself, marred as you see, with traitors. 

1 Cit. piteous spectacle ! 

2 Cit. noble C^sar! 

3 Cit. woeful day ! 

4 Cit. traitors, villains ! 

1 Cit. most bloody sight! 

2 Cit. We will be revenged : revenge; about, — seek, — burn, 
fire, — Mil, — slay ! — let not a traitor live. 

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 

1 Cit. Peace there: — Hear the noble Antony. 

2 Cit. We '11 hear him, we '11 follow him, we '11 die with him. 
Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 

To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They, that have done this deed, are honourable ; 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 



SELECTIONS. — OKATORICAL. 391 

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 

I am no orator, as Brutus is : 

But as you know me all, a plain blunt man, * 

That love my friend ; and that they know full well 

That gave me public leave to speak of him. 

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 

Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 

To stir men's blood : I only speak right on; 

I tell you that, which you yourselves do know ; 

Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 

And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus, 

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 

Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 

In every wound of Caesar, that should move 

The stones of Borne to rise and mutiny. 

Cit. We '11 mutiny. 

1 Cit. We '11 burn the house of Brutus. 

3 Git. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 

Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak. 

1 Cit. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what: 

Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? 
Alas, you know not — I must tell you then : — 
You have forgot the will I told you of. 

Cit. Most true; the will; — let's stay, and hear the will. 

Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives. 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 

2 Cit. Most noble Cassar ! — we '11 revenge his death. 

3 Cit. 0, royal Caesar ! 

Ant. Hear me vs^ith patience. 

Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
His private arbors, and new planted orchards. 
On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you. 
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Caesar : When comes such another ? 

1 Cit Never, never : — Come, away, away ; 
We '11 burn his body in the holy place, 
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. 



392 ELOCUTION-. 

1 at. Go, fetch fire. 

3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 

4 Cit. Jj*luck down forms, windows, anything. 

\_Exeunt Citizens, with the body. 
Ant. Now let it work: Mischief, thou art afoot, » 

Take thou what course thou wilt ! 

RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. 

From " Bienzi." — Mary Russell Mitford, 
Friends 1 

I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 

The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 

The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 

A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 

Falls on a slave: not such as, swept along 

By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 

To crimson glory and undying fame, — 

But base, ignoble slaves ! — slaves to a horde 

Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords. 

Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 

Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great 

In that strange spell — a name ! Each hour, dark fraud, 

Or open rapine, or protected murder, 

Cry out against them. But this very day. 

An honest man, my neighbor, — there he stands, — 

Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 

The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, 

He tossed not high his ready cap in air. 

Nor lifted up his voice in serjile shouts, 

At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 

And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 

The stain away in blood ? 8\ich shames are common. 

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye, — 

I had a brother once, a gracious boy. 

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 

Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 

Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give 

To the beloved disciple. How I loved 

That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 

Brother at once and son! He left mj side, 

A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 



SELECTIONS. — OEATORICAL. 393 

That pretty, liarmless boy was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

For vengeance! Eouse, ye Romans! Eouse,ye slaves! 

Have ye brave sons? — Look in the next fierce brawl 

To see them die ! Have ye fair daughters? — Look 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 

Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash ! Yet, this is Rome, 

That sate upon her seven hills, and from her throne 

Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are Romans. 

Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 

Was greater than a king ! And OA,ce again — 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to' the tread 

Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear 

The Eternal City shall be free ! 

ROLLA TO THE PERUVIANS. Sheridan. 

My brave associates, — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my 
fame ! — can Rolla's words add vigor to the virtuous energies which 
inspire your hearts ? No ! you have judged, as I have, the foulness 
of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. 
Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which 
in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours. They, by a 
strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended 
rule : we for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow 
an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate : 
we serve a monarch whom we love — a God whom we adore. 
Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! 
Whene'er they pause in amity, af9.iction mourns their friendship. 
They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, 
and free us from the yoke of error ! Yes ; they will give enlight- 
ened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of pas- 
sion, avarice and pride ! They offer us their protection : yes, such 
protection as vultures give to lambs, covering and devouring them! 
They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited, and proved, 
for the desperate chance of something better which they promise. 
Be our plain answer this: — The throne we honor is the people's 
choice ; the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy ; the 
faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all man- 
kind, and to die with the hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your 
invaders this; and tell them, too, we seek no change, — and, least 
of all, such change as they would bring us ! 



894 ELOCUTION. 



PURPOSE OF THE BUNKEE HILL MONUMENT. Webster. 

From " Speech at the Laying of the Corner-Stone." 

We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is most 
safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We 
know that, if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it 
reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could 
still contain but part of that which, in an age of knowledge, hath 
already been spread over the earth, and which history charges 
itself with making known to all future times. We know that no 
inscription on entablatures less broad than the earth itself can 
carry information of the events we commemorate, whei'e it has not 
already gone ; and that no structure, which shall not outlive the 
duration of letters and knowledge among men, can prolong the me- 
morial. But our object is, by this edifice to show our own deep 
sense of the value and importance of the achievements of our ances- 
tors ; and, by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep' 
alive similar sentiments, and to foster a constant regard for the 
principles of the Revolution. Human beings are composed not of 
reason only, but of imagination also, and sentiment ; and that is 
neither wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the purpose 
of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening proper springe 
of feeling in the heart. Let it not be supposed that our object is to 
perpetuate national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military 
spirit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the 
spirit of national independence, and we wish that the light of peace 
may rest upon it forever. We rear a memorial of our conviction 
of that unmeasured benefit which has been conferred on our own 
land, and of the happy influences which have been produced, by 
the same events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, as 
Americans, to mark a spot which must forever be dear to us and 
our posterity. We wish that whosoever, in all coming time, shall 
turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is not undistinguished, 
where the first great battle of the Revolution was fought. We wish 
that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and importance of 
that event to every class and every age. We wish that infancy may 
learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips, and that weary 
and withered age may behold it, and be solaced by the recollections 
which it suggests. We wish that labor may look up here, and be 
proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish that, in those days of dis- 



SELECTIONS. — ORATORICAL. 895 

aster whicii, as they come on all nations, must be expected to come 
on us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, 
and be assured that the foundations of our national power still 
stand strong. We wish that this column, rising towards heaven 
among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, 
may contribute also to produce in all minds a pious feeling of de- 
pendence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object on 
the sight of him who leaver his native shore, and the first to gladden 
his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him of 
the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it meet 
the sun in his coming ; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, 
and parting day linger and play on its summit. 

UNION AND LIBERTY. 0. W. Holmes. 

Flag of the heroes who left us their glory. 

Borne through their battle-fields' thunder and flame, 
Blazoned in song and illumined in story, 
Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame ! 

Up with our banner bright, 

Sprinkled with starry light. 
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, 

While through the sounding sky 

Loud rings the Nation's cry, — 
Union and Liberty ! One Evermore ! 

Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation, 

Pride of her children, and honored afar, 
Let the wide beams of thy full constellation 

Scatter each cloud that would darken a star ! 
Up with our banner bright, etc. 

Empire unsceptred ! what foe shall assail thee, 

Bearing the standard of Liberty's van? 
Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee, 

Striving with men for the birthright of man! 
Up with our banner bright, etc. 

Yet if, by madness and treachei'y blighted. 

Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw, 

Then with the arms to thy millions united, 
Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law ! 
Up with our banner bright, etc. 



896 ELOCUTION. 

Lord of the Universe! shield us and guide us, 

Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun I 
Thou hast united us, who shall divide us ? 
Keep us, keep us the Many in One ! 
Up with our banner bright. 
Sprinkled with starry light. 
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore. 
While through the sounding sky 
Loud rings the Nation's cry, — 
Union and Liberty ! One Evekmore ! 



THE END, 



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